


Phantom Pains

by Ghostpocky



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Drama, Felix Hugo Fraldarius Being an Asshole, Felix likes cats, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, I keep adding more tags guys, Injury, Injury Recovery, Love, Love Confessions, Making Out, POV Felix Hugo Fraldarius, POV My Unit | Byleth, POV Sylvain Jose Gautier, POV Third Person, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romance, Soft Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Soul-Searching, felileth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28796676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostpocky/pseuds/Ghostpocky
Summary: After a difficult battle leaves Felix without a hand he has to re-evaluate his past, his profession, and his motivations as he tries to define himself as something more than a swordsman. He struggles to separate the idea of what he wants and what he was raised to be. His growing love for Byleth offsets his anger and gives him a reason to keep pushing for growth, even when faced with insurmountable odds.This is a Felileth fic that has plenty of fluff and angst, but also complex emotional themes, violence, and that sweet Fraldarius family drama. Thanks to all who read 💖
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert & Bernadetta von Varley, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Hapi, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 23
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

Felix stumbled into the Monastery’s gates, his right arm cradled below his chest, blood trailing down the front of his coat in long streaks of scarlet. The world around him spun as he pressed forward, his half-opened eyes lulling from side to side looking for someone—anyone—to help him.

He heard the clanking of armor to his left, the last of his adrenaline climbing up his back as a tall figure ran towards him. Through his blurred vision he could not make out who, or what, was approaching. He attempted to ready a fire spell in his left hand, the flames weak, barely a flicker in his palm.

“S-Stay away...” he threatened, his voice breaking in exhaustion.

“Jeeze,Felix, it’s me!” He heard Sylvain say, his warped figure halting before him. “What happened?!“

Felix fell to his knees, the light in his hand disappearing in a puff of smoke. “I...” he started; his thoughts fragmented glass. “I...” He felt his brow furrow, language escaping him. All he wanted was to scream—if he had the strength maybe he would have. Instead, the swordsman cried silently, tears hot against his cheeks, dripping down to the ground and mixing with blood.

“Hey...hey, let’s get you help, okay?” Sylvain’s over-eager grip found his right bicep, attempting to pull his arm up to sling around his neck. “It’s a short walk to— “his voice cut out as he held his friend’s limb in front of him, the forearm blunted at the wrist, raw meat stringing from the wound and onto the fur of his sleeve. “Oh, Felix....” he said lowly.

“Stop...” Felix whispered with as much venom as he could muster. Several footsteps approached, the chatter of his friends outdone by the now constant ringing in his ears. He was suddenly facing up, a blue swath of Fodlan sky filling his vision. His rusty eyes fought to stay open, the weight of their lids dragging down until everything was dark.

*****

_“Felix. Felix, wake up! You’ll be late for training!” Glenn’s voice echoed from somewhere in the distance. “You’ll never beat me if you don’t take this seriously!”_

Felix was ripped from his dream at the sound of his name, his eyes opening to the warm candlelight of Manuela’s old office. He turned his head towards the voice and found the Professor staring at him, her features soft, concern dancing in her eyes.

“Byleth...” he managed, feeling the dryness of his tongue as he spoke. He had only just begun to forgo her title recently, a drunken kiss last moon sparking a confusing, unspoken love for her within him. He had always stolen glances at his instructor—in the dining hall, on the battlefield—but he was too comfortable drifting in the sea of distance to act on his desires.

“Shhh. Let me get you a drink.” She said, turning to her right and pouring a small glass of water.

“I-I can get it.” He said, attempting to reach a hand out and take the glass from her. Pain shot through his forearm as he moved, white bandages around his wrist rounding out the limb where his hand should be. His heart dropped as he pulled back, taking in the foreign anatomy. Memories of this morning flooded him—an empire loyal faction appearing while on patrol, a five-on-one battle. He would have made it out unscathed if they hadn’t summoned the beast when they did. He lost his footing as it charged at him, catching him by the sword hand and gnawing ferociously.

“Felix...please.”

His eyes found her once more, still holding the water out to him. He sighed, allowing her to put it to his lips and tip it back, the liquid cool against his parched tongue.

“Thank you...” he said, throwing off the covers and slowly rising to a stand. He felt some measure of relief seeing that, aside from his amputation, the rest of his body remained intact and uninjured, if a bit stiff.

“Hey-HEY, buddy, where do you think you’re going?!” Sylvain yelled as he appeared in the doorway, jogging over to him, reaching out to help his friend steady.

Felix recoiled from the touch, cradling his wound to his chest. “Leave me alone...Sylvain.” he hissed, heading towards the door, his feet dragging beneath him. The room suddenly shifted as he felt himself falling, his left side connecting with the wooden floor and sending an audible thud echoing into the night.

Byleth knelt at his side, her long fluorescent hair wafting the scent of lavender towards him. He pivoted his eyes away from her, staring instead at his tattered armor that lay in a messy heap at the bedside. He hadn’t noticed until then that he was dressed in casual wear—a clean white button-up and slacks rather than his usual attire. The swordsman wondered who had changed him as he slept, pangs of mortification flashing within him.

_Fucking embarrassing._

“Felix.” The Professor said, her tone stern as she helped him sit up, his up-do loosened from the fall, long strands of royal blue cascading over his shoulders. “You’re recovering from a severe injury, you need—and will need—help for a while.” She pushed a lock of hair behind his ear, her large green eyes studying him earnestly.

“You lost your hand. No one is going to think you’re weak for taking it easy.” Sylvain observed, hoisting him to his feet with Byleth’s aid.

They walked him over to the bed again, helping him onto the mattress, his back against the headboard.

 _That beast is still out there_ , he mused. His eyes drooped to vermillion slits as he fought exhaustion.

“Rest.“ Byleth commanded, sitting on the bed beside him, her hand on his. He looked down as her thumb made invisible circles on his skin, heat rising in his cheeks. He wanted to protest, to tell her that there was no need to worry about him and that she can go back to her own duties.Enervation stole his words, though, and all he could muster was a faint groan as a cold compress caressed his forehead, his consciousness drifting into the familiar embrace of sleep.

*****

Felix winced as Byleth fought with the knots in his hair, the teeth of her comb dragging his scalp.

“Ow, Stop it!” He exclaimed, reaching up to snatch the tool from her hands, throwing it in the corner of the room. “STOP!” He was screaming now, turning to face her, his anger boiling over. “I’m not helpless, Byleth! I can do this myself, please just go!”

His brow creased as he stared at her, his half-groomed locks dropping their full length around his face.

It had only been two days since his injury—-two days of resentful coddling from anyone and everyone he knew. Looks of pity as they brought him food, of unyielding concern as they denied him exit from this accursed sickroom.

He watched as Byleth’s eyes narrowed angrily, tears brimming the bright orbs. She walked across the room to retrieve her possession, turning it over in her hands gingerly. Felix softened; his head tilted to the side.

_Wait...is that important to her?_

She brushed the comb off, pulling loose hairs from between it’s teeth before pocketing it and walking out the door silently.

“Shit...” he vocalized, hoisting himself from the bed to jog after her. “Byleth!” He called as he watched her turn the corner. “Byleth, I’m sorry!”

He followed the bend of the hall, nearly running into her as she stopped to face him, her wet cheeks glistening in the afternoon sun. “Are you?” She asked, crossing her arms.

“Y-yes...” he huffed, brushing his bangs up and out of his eyes.

She sighed, turning to face the hallway window. “...why did it have to be you...?” She asked aloud, though he knew that the question was not intended for anyone in particular.

“Have to...be me?” He echoed, pulling her chin toward him with his index finger. He blushed at his own boldness.

_What am I doing?_

Her eyes slid down, her gloved hands clenching into small balls of leather. “Why do I have to _love you_?“ she finished, nearly whispering, shimmering tears falling to the floor.

Felix’s heart skipped, his eyes widened. “Wait...did you—“

“You’re so stubborn!” She boomed, pushing a hand into his chest forcefully, causing him to stumble backward. “You go out on patrol _alone_. You take on the enemy _alone._ You lose your hand in the process and _I’m_ the bad guy for taking care of you! You’re _insufferable,_ Felix!”

Several aids shuffled past them silently, looking back to gawk at the Archbishop as she fumed. Felix absentmindedly rubbed his chest where she hit him, his brow creased as he processed her words.

“You’re right...” he said after a moment, taking a few steps towards her. “I can be such a fool. I apologize.” He wanted to hold her, to tell her the feeling was reciprocated, but he felt undeserving after wounding her so.

Byleth dried her tears on the back of her glove, blinking up at him. “At least you know.” She choked, starting down the hallway again, her arms crossed as she walked.

He followed beside her wordlessly, surprised that she did not protest his presence. They emerged into the courtyard. Felix breathed deep, the scent of cooking meat from the cafeteria rising in the summer breeze.

“I thought you might need some air.” She said, batting a rock around the grass with the tip of her boot. “You’ve been cooped up for a few days...”

“The comb.” Felix started, turning to face her. “It’s an heirloom of some kind?” His question hung between them longer than he anticipated. He sighed, taking her silence as confirmation.

“Byleth, I didn’t—“

She dug through her pockets for a moment and pulled out the tool, presenting it to him. He took it in his hand, studying the detail. It was elegantly crafted and obviously of expert make, it’s silver handle graced by cascades of small golden flowers. On the back was an engraving that read “ _For my beloved Sitri_ ”.

“It’s beautiful...” he said lowly, handing it back to her. “It’s your mother’s?”

_As if I wasn’t a villain before._

“It’s all I have of her.” She said finally, looking up at him. “She died in childbirth. It was just my father and I most of my life. Now it’s just me.”

Jeralt’s death was a little over five years ago for Felix, but for her it was only months. Having lost his own father protecting the boar he knew the emptiness she was processing, the grief, the directionless anger. He reached over, grabbing her hand in his, pulling her into him. He wrapped his left arm around her, his chin rested in the part of her hair. He could feel her tracing the bandages on his wrist gently. Closing his eyes, he savored the feeling of their first true embrace.

“I accept your apology.” She said, her voice slightly muffled beneath him. “I’m sorry for smothering you. I just...you worry me. You’ve always worried me. You’re so impulsive, and now...your hand...”

“I’ll manage.” He said, stroking her hair. Even as he uttered the words he was unsure of their truth. He would have believed himself if it was his left hand, but…

After a moment he shook his head, pulling back from her slightly, their faces inches away as she looked up at him. “Actually....I...” he started, his gaze drifting from her as he spoke, uncomfortable with the vulnerability that comes with honesty. “There’s no place for a Fraldarius who can’t wield a sword...”

Byleth reached up, her palm flat against his left cheek. “You’re a swordsman, but a swordsman isn’t ALL you are, Felix.” The words were gentle, kind. She smiled, brushing her thumb along his skin.

“That may be so, but my family was trained to—-“ he was cut off by her finger on his mouth.

“Let’s try focusing on what you _want_ to be rather than what you were _trained_ to be” she interjected.

“What I…want…?” he blinked, pondering her proposal. As an aspiring Duke in service to the crown all he ever sincerely wanted was to get stronger, to hone his skill, to surpass Glenn and prove to his father that he was _worth_ something. Without the judgements of his family to contrast himself against, Felix had little idea what his life would be, what purpose he would serve.

That and…to possibly plan a future with her if she would have him. If she could _stand_ him.

He leaned over, kissing her deeply. Somewhere between her lips and the summer sun his uncertainty began to chip away, allowing him—if for a moment—to think that option B might not be so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Felix clutched his sword, a custom-weighted Wo Dao, and spun it in his grip. It had been his ally throughout the war, severing the heads of countless imperial soldiers, even tasting the blood of Edelgard herself when she took that monstrous form. As ridiculous as it sounds, he always thought of the thin metal as a comforting companion, a piece to his puzzle, nestled within his palm and ready to show the world his skill. After losing his hand to a shift in fate, however, it seemed foreign, forbidden; a language that he could read but not speak. 

He caught his reflection in the polished steel, his unkempt hair falling around his face, blue stubble pricking up from his chin. He narrowed his eyes and jolted backward, impaling the weapon’s length into the straw training dummy behind him.

He shook his head, rubbing his temples, recalling the words Byleth spoke to him yesterday: “ _A swordsman isn’t all that you are, Felix_ ”

 _But then…what_?He pondered with a sigh, clearing the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. His ears pivoted as he heard rustling at the door of the training grounds. A tall, slender figure slunk through the edges of the room, clinging to the shadows. Felix blinked; his eyebrow raised. He reached behind him, plucking his sword from the dummy’s breast.

“Hey!” he called out, his voice a formidable chill through the summer air. “What are you doing?” Shoulders squared he walked towards the intruder, the embellishments of the Wo Dao’s handle cutting into his flesh as his grasp tightened.

Closing the distance added detail to the figure—a violet-haired man rummaging through weapon storage, several swords and lances sticking out of a burlap sack at his feet.

_Great, another scavenger._

The Monastery was undergoing a rejuvenation effort and was quickly regaining it’s prestige in post-war Fodlan, but that had not stopped a consistent flow of would-be looters from sneaking in and trying to make off with supplies or valuables.

Felix kicked a short axe from the man’s hand, the metal clanging loudly against the tile floor. “You can’t steal from her.” His cheeks flushed at his threat, not realizing that he had subconsciously assigned possession of Garreg Mach to Byleth.

“From her, huh?” the scrounger parroted, standing to face him. “That’s an odd choice of words, though you usually don’t have many words to say, eh swordsman?” Purple eyes leveled with his as he punctuated his observation with a shrug.

Scoffing, Felix crossed his arms, trying his best to hide a wince as he brushed the stump of his wrist. “Do we know each other?”

“I’m a friend of your lover’s, Yuri Leclerc, leader of the Abyss.” Yuri leaned over, snatching the bag of weapons from the ground and slinging it over his shoulder. “We haven’t met formally, but I see you skulking around the place from time to time. Usually, you’re too absorbed in killing something to notice me or my digressions, though I suppose times change.” His gaze wandered towards Felix’s wound in unspoken acknowledgement.

He felt his face turn from discomfort to anger, his voice loud enough to echo in the emptiness of the space. “If you respect her then put them back!”

“Down, boy. I have permission from her holiness. Is that what you call her? Anyway, I don’t bite the hand that feeds. Abyss was all but rubble in the war, we have Byleth’s help in rebuilding it. If you think the scavengers up here are intolerable you should see the creatures that wander into my little haven. Always looking for some ancient artifact to fence or the like. Hence, the weapons.” He sighed, rolling his eyes. 

After an uncomfortable moment of silence Yuri reached down to grab the remaining arms – two Levin Swords and a Silver Bow. He fumbled with them for a second, shifting the weight but not finding comfort. “Listen, if you’re going to pester me you might as well be of use. That hand still works, yeah?”

“ _You’re pushing it._ ” Felix warned   
vehemently, sheathing the Wo Dao and collecting the loose supplies from him. He slung the bow over his right shoulder carefully, bending his arm at the elbow to secure it in place, the two swords fought for space in his left hand.

_If this insufferable fool is an ally of hers…_

“Thanks, friend. It’s a short walk, I think you’ll manage fine.” Yuri nodded towards the exit and started outside, parting the heavy metal of the doorway with a creaking shove.

Felix followed him into the open air, juggling the weapons as best he could while they continued. He couldn’t help but ponder what the Abyss was like. He had heard tales of it from Dimitri, who lead a small team of student’s into the underground their graduating year. He had no idea Byleth was with them, much less that she cozied up to their leader.

“What is your relationship with Byleth?” He asked, more accusation than question. “How did you… _know_ …about us?” They stopped before a wooden cart, a single grey horse hitched to its bulk. Yuri grunted, heaving the supplies into the transport.

“Don’t be cute.” He started, digging into the horse’s satchel, pulling a long rope from the depths. “We share some unpleasant history, but not the kind that you’re imagining.” His shadowy eyes twisted back towards Felix as he worked to secure the weapons with the fastening. “Church secrets and all. You can drop the goods, handsome. We’re just about done here.”

Felix formed the weapons into a neat pile, rubbing his right forearm as he backed away.

“She has it bad for you, you know. Has for a long time. You don’t need any special intel to see that.” Yuri gave the rope a final tug and approached his horse, putting one foot in the stirrup, his hands on the saddle. “She even came down to talk to that hoaxy fortune teller awhile back. _Will he ever stop being sooo aloof?_ ” His voice shifted octaves, poorly impersonating the professor. “Good Goddess it was sad.” He shook his head, smirking at Felix before heaving himself onto the mount. He took the reins in his hands. “Thanks for the help, lefty. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

Felix’s features hardened, his face red with ire. “What did you just call me?! Hey!” he screamed, but Yuri had already dug his heel into the horse’s side, trotting off into the midday sun, offering Felix a singular wave without looking back.

 _Unbearable_.He thought, angerly kicking a chunk of stone into the wall of the training grounds. _This is not how I thought the morning would go._

With a sigh he began to walk, the warmth of summer creeping into his hair, beads of sweat blossoming on his scalp. For the first time in a long time, he yearned for home. Not his room here at the Monastery, but his proper home in Faerghus. He hadn’t returned to the Fraldarius estate since the death of his father and wondered how he would be treated if he were to venture back. Would the servants swarm him, asking for payment and professional direction? Or would they grant him a wide berth and go about their business as they were trained to do? Would Rodrigue’s ghost stare at him from the paintings, shifting eyes judgefully watching as he ran their house into the ground?

 _No, I won’t be like the boar_. He thought, leaning his back against the brick of the Officer’s Academy, a tattered Blue Lions banner flapping to his left. He rose his hand, the back of his fingers brushing against the silk. Matters have never been uncomplicated, but when he first enrolled at Garreg Mach, he at least had some sort of direction. A full class and training schedule provided ample distraction from the disquiet within him following Glenn’s death. After the war, he had entertained the thought of mercenary work—mindlessly wandering from job to job, kill to kill, filling his days with blood and coin until he finally met the opponent that would end him.

Alas, a kiss had changed those plans— Byleth cornering him during the post-war festivities, her mind dizzy with ale and celebration. He wasn’t sure then if she had intended the intimacy for him specifically or if he was just the closest warm body, but after the events of the last week there was no denying their connection. She loved him and he loved her—with such devotion running to his death would no longer be that simple and part of him hated her for that. Once more, he despised himself for even realizing that truth. 

Felix sighed, pushing off the wall, continuing his aimless walk to nowhere. He ventured through the dining hall, the smell of baking pastries making his stomach churn.

 _I’m hungry, but not that hungry._ He thought, exiting the opposite side from whence he came.

“Felix!” he heard as he approached the fishing pond. He looked over his shoulder to see Sylvain jogging towards him, his crimson spikes bouncing with his cadence.

_Here we go again._

“Yes?” he answered, turning to face him.

“I’ve been looking all over for you! I swear I take my eyes off you for one minute and poof, you’re gone.” Sylvain shook his head, a hand on his left hip. “I just wanted to ask how you’ve been doing? The professor said you needed some space, so we’ve been…trying to give you time.”

He nodded with genuine appreciation. Since childhood the two of them have been polar opposites – one standoffish and guarded, the other personable and outgoing. Many times, Felix had snapped at him, sharp-tongued insults tearing at the fabric of their friendship, but it was all impulse. He really did welcome Sylvain’s company…in doses.

“Thank you. I’m fine.” He answered, turning away from his friend to continue down the path. Sylvain followed, his long shadow blocking the summer sun. Felix looked up at him, his features stern. “You’re following me?” he asked with more spice than intended.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I didn’t come back with a decent report for Ingrid.” He said, crossing his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. “Everyone was…is worried about you.”

“Ah.” Felix answered. Ingrid had taken Sylvain as her lover after the battle of Gronder. They have tried their best to hide the relationship but, as ever, his friends were foolishly transparent.

After a long silence the pair stopped at the horse stables, though Felix had no idea what the meaning was behind the action.

_Why are we here?_

He felt the brush of fur against his legs and looked down to see a kitten rubbing against him, the faint rumble of it’s purr rising up to greet him. Felix knelt down, petting it gently as it’s ears flattened with contentment.

“We were cleaning the stables when we found this little guy living beneath the tack station. I’m not sure where his mom is, but he can’t be that old. I was hoping that you might know someone who wants him.” The redhead blinked down at him, an obnoxious smirk playing at his lips.

 _Hey, friend._ He thought, sliding his hand beneath the animal and lifting him up to eye-level. He was only as big as his palm, large green orbs staring at him from within the darkened fur. The creature offered a small meow, it’s teeth barley breaking through candy-pink gums. “He’s so small…”

“That’s why he needs a home” Sylvain shrugged, shaking his head. “Who knows what the dogs around here will do to a loner like him.”

Felix stood, cradling the cat to his chest. He knew that his friend was trying to give him a project, a kind of interactive medicine to take the edge off the trauma he’s processing. A stray for a stray. “I don’t…dislike cats.” He said after a moment, shuffling past Sylvain and down the walkway, rolling his eyes at the happy chuckle behind him.

“Just ignore him.” he whispered to the kitten, thumbing the side of it’s face as it clung to his sleeve.

*****

“So, do you want the sorbet or not?” The cook growled over the food line. Felix snapped out of his daze, shaking his head. 

“No. Thanks.”

“Oh, wow, can I have it?!” A husky voice called from behind him. Felix looked over his shoulder to see a broad man’s chest, his white dress shirt straining against his bulk. His eyes followed the figure up, Raphael’s face met him, a ludicrously large smile lifting his cheeks into honey-colored eyes.

“O-Oh, sure.” He stammered, watching as the cook handed over the dessert, it’s size dwarfed by the Brawler’s meaty fingers. 

“Gee, thanks, Felix! I can’t believe you don’t like desserts. You know that sugar is one of the best fuels for fighting! I bet if you started eating sweets you could bulk up real fast!” 

“I’m not interested in bulking up “ he said with exasperation, carrying his tray to a table near the end of the dining hall, scanning the room as he went. Byleth was supposed to meet him here after her briefing with Seteth, though there was no sign of her anywhere.

_Maybe it’s just taking awhile...?_

He rested his meal on the soft wood, twisting his midsection and pulling his right forearm with his left hand gently, stretching the limb. Hardly using that side for almost a week now had made it stiff, uncomfortable. 

“Oh wow your hand is really gone!”

Felix’s heart leapt into his throat as his body jumped. He turned around to see Raphael taking a seat before him, the bench protesting his weight with a screech.

_How are his movements so quiet when he’s so LOUD?_

“So it would seem...” he answered wearily, lowering himself to a sit. He watched as Raphael clutched his fork like a dagger, stabbing relentlessly at multiple pieces of meat and skewering them into his mouth with a single bite.

He had never spoken with him before today, but he admired his skill on the battlefield during the fight for the bridge of Myrddin. Rodrigue had insisted they bring some Alliance contacts and he was a prime candidate due to his civil relationship with Claude as a Golden Deer Alumni. Felix recalled gawking from the ramparts as he punched an enemy’s Wyvern to death entirely weaponless.

 _Who punches a dragon?_ He thought, his brow furrowed at the memory.

“That must be really weird. What does it feel like? I heard if you go blind, your other senses get stronger. Does that mean your other hand is super strong?” He mused, food tumbling in his mouth as he spoke.

Felix blinked in silence, unsure how to handle such a foolish assumption. “It feels like...it’s still there...” he started, taking a drink of water from his cup. “Like it’s injured.”

_Why am I explaining myself to him?_

“Ah, a ghost hand! I’ve heard of those.” Raphael exclaimed, already digging into one of his two sorbets. “Being haunted by your own body. Life sure is weird sometimes.”

He raised an eyebrow. _Haunted by my own—_

“They’re called phantom pains.” Byleth corrected smoothly as she sat beside Felix. She turned to him, planting a kiss on his temple. “Sorry I’m late! There’s just so many details to work out with this renovation. It’s a real headache.” She smiled, her emerald eyes studying him as she tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.

His cheeks reddened as he faced her, his eyes wide. “Byleth!” He attempted to protest, not wanting to draw unneeded attention to their budding relationship. He hardened his brow, but could not help the adoration in his eyes.

 _She’s here._

Raphael’s head tilted to the side, his glance pivoting between the two curiously. “Hey professor! Or, um, Archbishop.  
Wow, I’ll never get used to that.” He scrapped his spoon into the bottom of the dish, scrounging for remnants of melted cream.

“And hello to you, Raphael. Thank you for the aid, I’m not sure we could have moved that rubble without you this morning.” She said, rubbing Felix’s calf under the table with the tip of her boot.

He heard the man mutter something about his sister finally coming to visit, but his vision became exclusively focused on his lover. The way her hands moved when she talked, the shape of her chin as it sloped down to her neck, the arch of her back as she squirmed in the uncomfortable cafeteria seat.

_She’s beautiful..._

Byleth turned to him again and he couldn’t help but smile. Felix slid his tray between them. “Share with me.” He offered, finally feeling relaxed enough to start his dinner. He dug a spoon into the corner of the Daphnel stew he ordered, scooping up the mixture and taking a bite. He watched as Byleth drug her finger along the side of the bowl, licking some of the hearty broth from it. Her eyes widened and she began fanning herself eagerly.

“Oh my goddess that’s so spicy!” She yipped, trying to cool her tongue down with heavy breaths.

Felix laughed his first genuine laugh in what felt like years, shaking his head at her. He sighed happily, leaning over to grab his water. He held it out to her with a smirk.

 _Adorable_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A busy day for best boy <3 I’ve always wanted Raphael and Felix to have supports so this was super fun to write. I hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Just popping in with a quick warning that this chapter will have depictions of gore and sex-adjacent content. Don’t worry, though! This story is still rated T for Tea Time! <3 Enjoy!

“ Hold still, okay?”  Byleth requested, her hands unwrapping the bandages around Felix’s wrist in a long, looping motion. She smiled as she got to his skin, setting aside the soiled dressings in a nearby trashcan. “This looks good! The swelling has gone down so much.”

_ I  wouldn’t say it looks good... _ he blinked, taking in the appearance of his injury. His arm was blunted where the hand should be, the flesh on either side of his limb pulled up and around the remnants of wrist bone, thick stitching closing the wound at the tip. There were scorch marks from the fire spell he used in attempts to cauterize himself on the battlefield, the charred skin forming a blackened scab near the stump.

He winced as she dabbed alcohol along the sutures that pursed him together. No matter how many times they went through this routine he still experienced pangs of loss. He looked forward to a day where his arm felt like part of him rather than a troublesome embarrassment. That day, he mused, was not today.

He looked around the room silently as she applied clean gauze to his limb. His dormitory at the monastery was humble—a few bookshelves, a desk, and the cot on which they sat. The newest addition was a makeshift pet bed fashioned from a lump of blankets at the corner of his windowsill. The kitten Sylvain had tasked him  with, now named Luna, frequented the spot to bask in the warm rays of summer.

_ How much longer can I stay here? _ he wondered, his mind again drifting to home and the responsibilities beckoning him there. The muck of his house’s past and an entire territory with his literal name on it was just waiting to drag him down. Here lies Felix, another Fraldarius dead to the chivalric facade of Faerghus, as is custom. He drank his fill of tea and blood until his body cooled in the dirt, thanks to the goddess for her blessings.

Byleth rubbed his wrist gently. “And that’s that!” She leaned forward, happy eyes looking for an acknowledgment of a job well done. “Beloved...?” She asked, her voice lowering to his mood.

“Sorry, I just...” he started, he had been avoiding this conversation since before his accident—both with himself and with her. “My...father’s estate...I’ve put it off as long as I can...” 

“Then we shall go.” She leaned forward, kissing him lightly on the lips, the smell of lavender rising from her hair. He returned the gesture, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her onto his lap. He was silent for  a while , his eyes closed as she traced his collarbone. “I’ve never been to Fraldarius. I would love to see your home.” She propped her head against his chest, vocalizing a short hum of contentment.

He rubbed her arm slowly with the stump of his hand, resting his head against hers wordlessly, his royal blue hair falling onto her back. How could he bring her into the Dukedom’s messy affairs? His family’s abuses and squabbles? Did he dare take her from the end of one war and throw her onto the cusp of his personal one? 

“I...” he started, his brow hardening as his mind fumbled for the words. “I didn’t have the relationship with my father that you had with  Jeralt .” He leaned back a bit, looking down at her, his stare cold with frosty recollection. “ Byleth he was...not a good man.”

He watched as the professor’s head tilted to the side, processing this knowledge. Her gaze shifted away from  him, her eyes narrowed in thought. “Is this about Glenn?” She asked. Felix could tell that she was choosing her words carefully.

_ It’s _ _not that simple_.

He shook his head, drawing his arms back into her lap, doing his best to ignore the nervous energy prickling in his legs. As bold as he has always been, his father was a looming presence—a source of anxiety and outright disgust. He felt heat rising in his cheeks, the resurfacing anger inside of him making his head buzz.

“It’s not just about Glenn” he said dryly. He pressed his hand flat against is forehead, his eyes closed. “Glenn’s death was just an acknowledgment of what I already knew.” He felt his voice becoming venomous but could not stop. “They were forced to have us. They didn’t want _sons_ they wanted _heirs_. Crest-bearing offspring to continue a bloody legacy. Glenn wasn’t someone to love, he was a commission to Lambert, a knight with all the _chivalry_ and _pride_ and _glorious death_ he could want.” He could feel his breathing quicken, he scratched the back of his neck so hard it hurt, his nails dragging audibly against his skin. “I’m just a vessel—someone to carry this name, this power, and for what? WHAT IS THE POINT?! “he slammed his right arm down against his leg instinctively, as hard as he could, hot pain shooting up the limb and into the side of his head. His eyes widened as he hunched over, collapsing in on himself, cradling the injury and rocking slowly.

“Fuck...” he whispered weakly through a sob, tears streaming down his face and onto the bed, dotting his white sheets with translucent droplets.

Byleth took him by the shoulders, pushing him gently to sit upright. Her features were soft, large green eyes leveled with eager concern. She held out her hand, the comforting light of healing magic radiating from her palm. “Let me help you.” 

Felix let out a shaky groan as he straightened his arm into her grip once more. He closed his eyes as the pain dulled to a nagging throb. He ran his hand through his hair, trying for deep, steady breaths.

_ “If  you’re wounded on the battlefield, it will hurt. It might even be the worst pain  you’ve ever felt. The most important thing to do is control your breathing.” Glenn said, smiling down at him. “ So take a deep breath for me, Felix.  It’s just a scrape, you’ll be okay. _

“I’ll...be okay...” he said after a long silence, more to his dead brother than his live companion. Byleth’s spell faded with an audible chime. Her expression was complex as she studied his face, entirely unreadable, like she was dissecting the ingredients that made him. He felt the claws of  self-doubt reaching up from the depths—was she overwhelmed by his outburst? Was this taste of his past too much to bear ? Did she not believe him about his father?

_ I’m _ _such a fool_. he thought, casting away the last of his tears with the back of his sleeve, hating himself for this moment of transparency.

“...I love you...” she said, finally. A small smile playing at her lips. “If Rodrigue truly didn’t see the value in you that is his tragedy.” She sat up on her knees, leaning over to take his head in her hands. She planted a kiss in the part of his hair. “Leave it rot if it makes you happy. I will follow your lead, whatever you decide, wherever you go.” 

He hugged her waist with his left arm, his head resting against her ribs. He closed his eyes, stroking the small of her back.

He felt  her  massaging his scalp, his embrace tightening in response. “I love you, too...” he said. He had never told anyone he loved them before—not family or friend—as he had never  genuinely believed in the idea...at least, not until strands of emerald began to obsessively steal his thoughts. 

She pulled away, lowering herself to look at him, her bright eyes hugged with tears. He caught one with his index finger as it slid down her cheek. “I’ve upset you...?”

She shook her head and kissed him deeply, her hands climbing up the underside of his turtleneck, her fingers brushing the bare skin of his lower back with electric precision. He confusingly returned her kiss, allowing his own touch to become exploratory as he took one of her breasts in a firm grip.

_I guess not_? he thought as she pushed into him further, tracing the contours of his abs as he was forced to lay flat on the mattress, her breath coming in steamy huffs.

“ Shhhh .” She whispered, fumbling with his belt fastenings as she planted kisses below his ear. He felt static coursing through him with her movements, a hot and pleasant buzz that made him squirm in a way nothing else ever had. He grabbed her neck, forcefully running his thumb along her collar. He wrapped his right arm around her back as she worked, cursing his one-handedness for a countless time.

*****

“ So are you going to come with me or not?” Felix asked, his left hand on his hip, his foot tapping impatiently against the tile floor sending small, echoing thuds into the air of the training grounds. 

“I-I just don’t know if it’s a good idea...” Ashe stumbled, looking towards the door like he could run at any second. “I’d love to help, Felix, I really would but I’m just an archer. I can’t take out a beast on my own...”

Felix sighed impatiently, his brow stern. “I would be there! I just need you to provide some ranged support.” He shook his head, doing his best to maintain composure. “Actually, I’ll go myself. It’s fine.” He turned, his blue cape swooshing behind him.

_ I  don’t _ _know why I even asked_.

He heard a groan and quick footsteps, Ashe suddenly filling his vision again, his pale face flushed with anger.

“Remember that book I told you to read?!” He boomed with more force than Felix thought him capable. “That knight—you really are just like him. In the sequel, he gets stabbed and swears revenge on his attacker, only to be bested again!  It’s a lesson in humility. To be proud but not  _ too _ proud. You don’t have to fight that thing, Felix! Who even knows if it’s still here?!”

“It’s here.” He pushed forward, shoving Ashe from his path as he made his way over the threshold and into the lush courtyard.

_Comparing me to a fucking book again_.

It had been days since he wore his full ensemble, the complex fastenings were nearly impossible to do with one hand and  the  fur of his coat made the heat of summer almost unbearable.  Byleth had put a lot of work into cleaning it, though, and the added effort was worth it. It made him look more like himself,  feel more like himself— like the last week  hadn’t literally taken part of him. He wiped sweat from his brow as he continued down the path and out of the Monastery gates.

_ I really need to invest in lighter armor. _ He sighed, fumbling with a hair tie, doing his best to secure his locks in a loose updo, his fringe still slumped against his forehead.

The scene of the battle that claimed his hand was nearby, maybe a half mile into the forest. Retracing his steps was easy—an ample blood trail offering clear indication of his prior travels. Felix nodded to himself in silent acknowledgement when he seen a corpse of his making— the body bloated in  it’s Adrestian armor,  it’s neck separated by a huge and  gory slit, bits of now rotten flesh insulating the white vertebrae that peeked out at him.

He rose the back of his hand to his nose, the smell of his leather glove doing little to outshine the stench of death. A thicket of flies pestered him as he pressed on, the canopy of the forest dampening the midday sun.

“HEY!” He heard a man shouting from behind him. He spun around, instinctively trying to grab the Wo Dao with a limb that  didn’t exist. His heart leapt in his throat at the precious seconds lost, settling instead on casting a wind spell in the direction of the noise. The dead body at his feet flung into the air in response, nearly landing on Ashe as he came running over, a high-pitched scream coming from him as the corpse’s  riggored joints crunched against the hard earth.

Felix blinked in confusion. “Why are you here?” He  scoffed; his voice low. He was secretly relieved at the sight of his friend but made a point to hide it. “I thought you weren’t coming?”

Ashe struggled to catch his breath, his hands on his knees, his back heaving. “I-I couldn’t ...let you come out here alone. The professor would surely kill me.” He straightened out, rubbing his bicep nervously. “I didn’t expect you to throw a body at me though...” he finished with a nervous chuckle.

“Mm.” He hummed stiffly in response. The two began walking down the dirt path, the density of the forest blocking more and more light as they continued.

“Hey...this may be out of place but...does she know you’re here...?”

_ Should I have told her? _ He silently shook his head, stopping when his foot  smacked against something on the ground. Felix  knelt, plucking a fleshy lump from the dirt. He jerked when he realized that it was a piece of his own disembodied finger, the meat greyed from days of exposure, a serrated trunk of bone protruding from the bottom where it once connected to the rest of him. He threw the digit into the distance on reflex, stifling a gag and covering his mouth with the stump of his hand, his eyes wide.

“What was that? Are you okay?”

“I-It was my —“ he was cut off by a weak growl coming from further down the path. He stood slowly, his hand on his sword. He looked at Ashe who nodded, notching an arrow into his silver bow as he followed.

They slowly made their way through the undergrowth of shrubbery and towards the noise, the  soil around them bloodier and bloodier as they continued.

_ This  isn’t from me… _

“There, in the clearing.” Ashe whispered, nodding towards a break in the  woodland . They both took positions behind nearby trees , daring glimpses into the grove.

In the center of the  lush grass lay a massive demonic beast,  it’s body covered in slick grey scales, nearly iridescent in the sun. Large spikes protruded from  it’s spine, it’s red eyes narrowed to slits as  it’s heavy body fought for trembling breaths. The trail of gore lead to the thing – a sword, which Felix  recognized as his second Wo Dao, penetrated  it’s jaw, the blade sticking up through the bottom and into the roof of  it’s mouth,  ostensibly puncturing the bottom of  it’s brain.

_I got him after all_.  He thought, readying a fire spell in his hand , savoring the smell of smoke as it wafted up and into the air.  _ He will burn. _

The stillness of the forest was broken with a loud  _thwack_.  The beast roared,  it’s head jolting from side-to-side. Nearby birds retreated into the sky.

Felix blinked to adjust his vision—the monster’s eye had been punctured by an arrow, long streaks of scarlet dripping from  it’s socket. It moaned slowly before collapsing,  it’s bulk going limp as the last of  it’s life drifted away. He shook the spell from his hand and grabbed Ashe by the collar, screaming into his face.

“WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!” His features were stern, rage fogging his senses. The archer shook his head.

“F-Felix you were going to run in there. You basically killed it anyway, I just finished it off. There’s no need to put yourself in danger.”

“It’s not for you to decide, Ashe!” he exclaimed, dropping him to the ground with a thud. Felix looked away, rubbing his temples , feeling exhausted as the last of his adrenaline began to fade.

“I’m heading back… ” he said, his voice laced with  exasperation. He  thought of the night he shared with  Byleth and wished nothing more than to be in her embrace once again

*****

Byleth ran through the Monastery gates, her mind struggling for thoughts through a foggy panic. She clutched the sword of the creator , the tip of the blade dragging behind her as she ran.

_He’s so stubborn. Goddess, why would he go out here alone again?_

She entered the forest, following a thin trail of blood. Her large eyes downturned sadly, as she knelt to study the ground.

_This must be from..._

“Byleth...?” 

Her body jumped at the sound of her name. She looked up to see her lover, dressed in complete battle attire for the first time in days, staring down at her. His usually cold eyes were soft, blinking in a marriage of confusion and relief.

“Felix!” She rose, forgoing her weapon to throw herself at him, her arms wrapped around his waist eagerly. She felt his large hand on her head, stroking her hair through gloved fingers.

 _He’s alive. He’s okay._ She sighed with happy respite. She knew that he was capable , his strength and battle prowess was part of what attracted her to him, but he was also foolishly tenacious.

“I...apologize...” he said after awhile. “I just...wanted closure. I never meant to worry you.” His voice was uncharacteristically warm as he kissed the top of her head.

“And...did you find the beast?” She asked, looking up at him. His eyes pivoted away, his brow hardening.

“It’s dead. I suppose that’s all that matters.” He looked back at her again, his long blue hair dancing in its loose up-do. “Beloved...”

Byleth’s unbeating heart would have fluttered in her chest if it could. “Y-yes...?” She answered weakly.

“Are you serious about going to Fraldarius with me?” 

She nodded. “I’ve already spoken with Seteth and made arrangements in the instance you decided to go.” She took his hand in hers, wondering if he had resolved to take his place in the Dukedom or if he would resign his title. The selfish part of her prayed for the latter.

“There is no alternative” Felix sighed, shaking his head. “But having you with me...would make it easier. Thank you.” He smiled genuinely, leaning down to kiss her.

Byleth didn’t know if she could truly take the edge off the animosity he felt towards his dead family or the choices he would need to make moving forward, but she was overwhelmingly happy that he cared for her enough to think so.


	4. Chapter 4

“C-Can youuu…tilt your head f-forward? I need to get your neck.” Bernadetta requested shakily, the scissors in her hand trembling as she adjusted her grip.

Felix groaned, wanting this process to be over with already. He had never undergone a haircut before, opting to trim the ends himself once every few months, but managing such a thick mane with one hand had become cumbersome, impractical. He leaned his neck into the position requested, staring at the hard Faerghus earth as he slumped forward. “Are you almost done?” he asked, rubbing the inner corners of his eyes, his voice laced with more irritation than intended. Socializing was never a pleasant experience for the swordsman but mingling with a recluse is a whole new ordeal.

Quick, audible snips began behind him as she chopped at the nape of his hair. His rusty eyes drifted towards his periphery as inches and inches of royal blue floated to the ground.

 _I may be the first Fraldarius with short hair._ He mused, thinking back to his lineage. Rodrigue had explained years ago that it was customary for the men in his family to have this hairstyle—Glenn, his father, his grandfather—all their faces framed by the lengthy strands that were trademark to his house. Felix himself had never thought much about these matters until it became a chore, though the idea of his dead parent’s disgust at the action brought pleasure to him.

“It’s almost done! I-I just need to get your bangs.” She circled around him, her face inches from his, her brow downturned in apparent fear. The girl took his fringe in her hand and was about to continue when she suddenly spun away, her arms cradled to her chest like she was bracing for an attack. “Sorry but can you close your eyes?! It’s so hard to concentrate!”

 _Closing my eyes will help her concentrate?_ He thought, shaking his head and obliging. “Fine. Just hurry up.”

“ _That icy glare!”_ he heard her whisper as she approached, again claiming his hair in her hands and steadily cutting into it’s bulk. After a few moments he heard the clang of metal and frantic thudding. “Okay you’re done, bye!”

He opened his eyes to see Bernadetta ducking into a nearby tent. His eyebrow raised as he watched the flap of the shelter lull to a close. _What an odd girl._ His foot brushed against something on the ground as he stood. _What’s this?_

Kneeling, he plucked a silver mirror from the grass—it seemed to be a custom piece adorned with a small hedgehog and several hearts. Holding it to his face he inspected his new appearance for the first time. His hair fell in wavy layers that ended just below the jaw line; thick bangs stacked to level with the bottom of his right eye. He reached up, brushing them aside with his wrist. _This is actually really nice. Who knew she was so talented? I guess I should give this back, though..._ He considered with a sigh, recalling the satchel he attempted to return to her their graduating year only to be disarmed. The thing was still in the trunk below his bed at the Monastery. 

Felix stood, making his way across the camp. The road home was long – from Garreg Mach through Charon, Galatea, past Fhirdiad, and finally to Fraldarius. The whole ordeal takes over a week on horseback, though having Byleth involved was able to procure them some Pegasi, cutting down their travel time by a few days. He had wanted to make the trip with just the two of them but Seteth, ever protective, insisted that the couple enlist the help of at least one battalion. Ashe had volunteered his ranks, his wife Bernadetta tagging along, fearing being alone with strangers more than a hard journey. They were just outside of Fhirdiad by now, stopping to rest for a final time before reaching their end destination.

He paused outside of her tent, musing how to announce his presence without a door to knock on. He settled for yelling her name. “Bernadetta!”

“EEKK!! You hate it! I knew you’d hate it please don’t kill me!” She screamed. A light came on inside the tent after a moment of silence, a lumpy shadow present within.

“Bernadetta…” He said, trying to level his voice to be as neutral as possible, bending over and reaching for the fabric entryway. “I’m just trying to—” he stopped, processing the interior of the space. The recluse was nowhere to be found, only a large stuffed bear occupied his vision. _Did she run out the back?_

“I’ve come too far to die now!” He heard from behind him. A forceful shove met his back and suddenly he was on the ground, the fragrance of damp soil rising to greet him.

“Ugh…what the hell?!” Felix uttered, dumbfounded in his position. He rose slowly, massaging his shoulder, one eye closed in momentary discomfort. “What was that for?!” He looked around but she was nowhere to be seen. “Where…?”

“Is that Felix?”

He turned at the sound of his name to see Ashe and Byleth appearing from the edge of the forest, firewood and kindling in tow as night closed in. “You’re back.” A small smile tugged his lips, the sight of his lover the only thing to consistently melt his icy walls. Anxiety brushed him for a moment as he wondered what she would think of the decision to alter his hair so drastically. Spiting the ghosts of his family brought him joy, but he genuinely cared what she thought of him, though a streak of pride would not allow him to ask her outright. As it were, he wouldn’t have to.

“So cute!” She exclaimed, setting an armful of brush down to jog over. She reached up, running both hands through his hair with wild exploration, rustling the bountiful layers to and fro with her fingers. “It’s so short! I _love_ it! Who did this for you?!”

Felix closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her touch slightly, indulging in the feeling. “Bernadetta. But she—”

“Wait, you’re not mad?!” The shout came from a bush to the side of their hitch, a white Pegasus neighed in surprise, it’s massive wings flapping in discomfort.

“I was just giving you your mirror.” Felix said coolly, walking over to the discarded twigs. He bent his right arm, picking them up with his left hand a bundle at a time to cradle them in the limb.

“Oh, Bernie, we talked about this.” Ashe shook his head, unloading two large logs into the fire pit. He looked towards the bush where Bernadetta was emerging—small, green leaves wedged between the purple strands of her hair.

“ _Think before you run_ , I know, I know. His eyes are just so c-cold.” She looked towards the swordsman who caught her glance inadvertently. She let out a nervous shudder as she joined her husband, ducking behind him and grabbing the back of his shirt in an unsteady fist.

 _Surly I’m not that intimidating?_ Felix mused, handing the kindling over to his friend who began constructing the base for their fire. He backed up a few steps when he seen a large purple eye peek at him from over Ashe’s shoulder, not wanting to cause more commotion.

“It’s been a long road. Why don’t we all take it easy tonight? I brought something for Bernie’s nerves just in case.” Byleth asked, approaching her mount to calm it down. Her small hands stroked the ivory fur of the creature, stopping to caress it’s strong chin. Once at ease, she reached a hand into the saddlebag, pulling out a large bottle fashioned from black glass.

He sighed, crossing his arms, recognizing the Albinean whiskey she held. They had spoken of it briefly before departing the monastery, though he was under the impression it would be a celebratory drink for when they arrived; something to share with Sylvain and Ingrid when they met with them in Fraldarius. It had never occurred to him that it would be used as an emergency medication for a reclusive girl’s anxiety attack.

Ashe, always one to try new things, smiled at the idea. He turned to face his wife, the tips of his silver hair teasing her forehead. “Let’s partake, it’ll be fun I promise. I’ll be here with you the whole time.” His gloved hands rested on her shoulders as she stared at him, the worry in her eyes blowing away with the last of the day’s sun.

*****

Felix dropped to a sit beside the fire, holding out his hand towards the flames, heat licking up at him. The further into Faerghus they rode, the chillier the nights. The cold was an old comfort to the swordsman, he had spent countless hours in childhood running through the snowy forests of his homeland chasing after his older brother, always a few steps behind, never quite catching up.

“It’s so cold!” Byleth said as she walked over, rubbing her arms. She sat on the ground beside him, so close that their thighs touched. She was dressed in monastery summer wear, the form-fitting skirt offering little protection from the elements.

_Well, she definitely didn’t dress for it._

He began fumbling with the fastenings of his cape, his brow furrowed at the difficulty. The clasp finally released with an audible _click._ He removed the piece in a swooping motion and draped it over her, watching as she pulled on the edges, tightening it’s embrace on her shoulders. She looked at him, her face already flushed with the first kisses of drunkenness.

“Thank you.” She smiled, leaning her head against his right shoulder.

Felix reached over and grasped a nearby stick to prod the fire, the logs that made it collapsed down where their foundation had been engulfed. Flames danced up, gloriously orange against the darkness. It spit smoke and ember into the night, illuminating their small campground. He breathed deep, basking in the sweet smell of burning timber.

“Felix?” Byleth asked after a moment, propping her chin up on his shoulder to look at him.

“Mm?” He hummed without looking at her, still playing with the ashes in the pit.

“What’s your favorite color?” She asked dreamily, forgoing her grasp on the cape to hug his arm, slowly undoing the bandages she had applied earlier that day.

 _She is properly drunk._ His rusty eyes pivoted towards her as she worked, the long rope of gauze falling to the ground, exposing his wound beneath.

“It’s green.” He answered shortly, wincing slightly as her index finger explored the contours of his wrist, the still-healing flesh tender to the touch. He was unsure why she was concerned with such trivialities, but he was making a point to try and be more open with her, more honest and forthcoming, not wanting his well-established crudeness to complicate the one good thing that has blessed his life. Flashes of her distraught face the day he threw her mother’s comb occurred to him.

_I never want her to feel that way again._

Byleth giggled under her breath. “That must be why you like me so much.” She smiled up at him, kissing his shoulder. Another swig of Whiskey found her lips, she held the bottle to his face, gesturing for him to give it a try.

Felix blushed, not having made the connection that his favorite color did indeed match her hair and eyes. His lip curled at the turpentine-like scent of the alcohol. Just two shots of the stuff had done Ashe and Bernadetta in for the night and he was not about to lose his senses. “No thank you.”

“Always so stuck up.” She responded, taking a final drink before corking the bottle and setting it behind them. Her fingers found his wrist again, this time pulling it into her lap as she inspected his sutures. There was a long silence, broken only by the crackling of fire as the flames began to simmer down, a shadow of it’s former strength.

“Felix I…I’m so sorry that this happened…” Her voice was strained as she spoke, her head lulling further towards the ground as she slumped.

He repositioned to face her, setting down the fire prod, it’s smoldering tip streaking a thin line of smoke up into the air. His hand grasped her chin, pulling it upright to face him. Leaning forward he kissed her lightly, the bitterness of alcohol affecting his taste. “What’s your favorite color?” He asked, savoring in the pleasant contours of her face—the slope of her nose, the curl of her lashes, the pout of her lips. She blinked up at him, confusion lacing her hazy eyes.

“W…What?”

“I told you mine, so it’s only fair. What’s the Archbishop’s favorite color?” Though he was still processing this new disability, he seen no reason for his lover to partake in guilt. The fault was his and his alone.

“It’s pink.” She answered, sniffling back a sob. He smirked, thumbing away a tear on her cheek.

“Pink? I would have thought black. You certainly wear enough of it.” His eyebrow raised playfully, trying to coax her into reaction.

“Well, you don’t wear…green armor either.” The professor managed, a slight slur in her words. Felix laughed, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She buried her head in the crook of his neck, humming with contentment, her lids heavy with impending sleep. “What’s your….favorite food…?”

“We'll talk about it in the morning.” He whispered, helping her to a stand. “Let’s get you to bed.” The thought occurred to him, not for the first time, that Byleth seemed as frail as she was powerful—a complex and organic glass cannon. So much of her was still a mystery to the swordsman, but he was thankful for the privilege of her trust, and even more so for her love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a nice little fluff piece I wrote since the next one will be emotionally heavy. It will also be longer so I very much appreciate your patience! I have included a fan art of Bylix I drew for the cover photo for this story on Wattpad. I hope you like it!
> 
> P.S. -- Thanks to everyone who's been leaving Kudos / comments and messaging me on Tumblr! It means so much and really helps keep the motivation up. I'm so excited for where this story is going and can't wait to share more; especially the next few action-heavy entries <3


	5. Chapter 5

Felix slid off the back of their Pegasus, his boots connecting with a dull thud against the stone of the courtyard. Byleth smiled up at him as he swayed slightly, placing her hand on his shoulder to help him steady. He cleared his throat, stretching his neck from side to side with a groan.

“I never knew you were such a nervous flyer!” She chimed, biting her lip as he scowled, fighting back a laugh. He breathed deep, the cool air of Fraldarius nipping at the inside of his nose, the smell of pine and saltwater seeping into him.

For all his 24 years the swordsman has keenly despised mounts, flying ones especially. Putting his trust in a beast at an altitude that would kill him manifested a nagging anxiety. Watching the land below shrink into the distance caused his muscles to tense, his stomach to churn. Now, being one-handed, he was forced to ride passenger, piling an extra layer of discomfort onto the experience.

_I never want to do this again._

“I’m just not used to it.” The words had spice as he continued. “I don’t even like horses let alone horses with wings.” His eyes found hers, his hard edges rounding a bit. “It’s just...good to be on the ground.” His voice was creased with exhaustion. They had been in the air for nearly five hours, stopping only to disconnect with Ashe’s battalion as they approached their destination. Sylvain, having already been in Gautier on his own business, was to meet them here shortly with his lover in tow.

 _I’m not looking forward to this._ Felix thought. Somewhere between the hard travel and the promise of a lecture from Ingrid he had lost his adrenaline. The only thing he sincerely wanted was a deep and peaceful rest. The warmth of his bed, Byleth curled next to him, the sound of light rain pattering outside the bedroom window. The thought pulled at his eyes, the lids dragging down, mere rusty slits straining to stay open.

“Felix?” The Professor placed her hand on his cheek, her delicate features brimmed with concern. “Hey...stay with me.” That voice was one of the things he adored about her — authoritative and calm —an anchor to pull him back no matter the direction he drifted.

“Mmm?” He vocalized softly. She rose to her tiptoes, stretching to kiss his lips, sliding her hand to lace the nape of his hair. He sleepily obliged, leaning into her, his fingers brushing the small of her back.

“Is it a short walk to your home?” Byleth asked, pulling away to rest her feet flat against the stone. The sky above them hung low, shades of grey threatening rain.

“We’re on the grounds already. This is the courtyard of the estate. The main house...” he paused, mulling his wording. “My...house....is further up. Half a mile, maybe.”

Felix started down the walkway, gesturing with his right arm for her to follow. “This way.” His hand dug into the pocket of his coat, fingers wrapping around a battle-worn spur buried within. It was a keepsake from his older brother that had become a boon over the years—a material aid for the shapeless disquiet within.

 _Maybe Dimitri was right._ He mused, his thoughts casting back to the boar prince’s obsession with the dead. Felix could feel the eyes of his father around him—behind the trees, in the grass, on the wind. The entire place wreaked of the man, a brutalist tribute to all that was spoken and unspoken between father and son.

His teeth clenched, his handless limb trembling slightly with a mixture of unease and rage as they continued. Byleth reached out, taking his wrist in a light grasp as they pressed on, thumbing his skin in wordless support.

The path they walked was fashioned of sea stone, a colorful mixture of blues and browns that contrasted well against the green of the forest it cut through. To the best of his memory there were usually servants and aids scuttling through the growth, venturing from this building to that, their duties scattering them about the grounds. Today, however, there was only stillness, overgrown and yawning in the expanse of the wood.

 _Where is everyone?_ Felix thought as his vermillion eyes wandered the space. Between the emptiness and his own apprehension, the place felt like a tomb, cold and beckoning, waiting to claim another of his lineage. _It’s so odd seeing it vacant. Shouldn’t Senan be here?_

Senan was Rodrigue’s proxy, the temporary Duke of Fraldarius in Felix’s stead. The man held no blood relation to the family but had been his father’s advisor for several years before his passing. He had expected to be greeted by him when they arrived, or at least his retainer, but no such welcome had found them.

He stopped for a moment as they approached his childhood home, taking in the view. It was a massive building made of smoothed bricks, charcoal in color, at least four floors high. Its bulk separated the end of the timber land and the cusp of a beach that emptied out into the northeastern sea.

“It’s....been a long time.” He mumbled; his head tilted up to take in the girth of the structure. Salty wind blew through from over the water, rustling the layers of his hair in an icy breeze.

“It sure has!” Sylvain chipped from behind him, jogging toward the pair, a ridiculous smile smeared across his face.

Felix felt another presence at his back, a tight embrace landing around his stomach. “I’m so glad you’re okay! I was so worried.” Ingrid said, letting go as he turned to face her. She looked up at him, deep olive eyes soaking in his changes. “Your hair...it hasn’t been that short since we were kids.” Her hand rose to the fringe, brushing the royal blue strands with a flick of her wrist.

“It couldn’t be helped.” He said venomously, pushing her hand away with his right arm. Felix watched as her gaze shifted to focus on his injury, wondering if her fixation was out of pity or discomfort. She had always been motherly, preaching about safety and good decisions as far back as he could remember—an overbearing nature that drove against his prickly need for independence. Still, not wanting to upset her so soon after arriving, he half-heartedly added, “It’s good to see you, Ingrid.”

“I can’t believe you were maimed...” She observed, her voice low. “What in Fodlan were you thinking taking on that faction alone?! Did you want to end up like Gl—”

“Stop.” He sneered, turning his back to her, hiding a grimace. He began moving towards the structure, preferring the looming judgement of the dead to the nagging insistence of the living.

“ _How irksome_. “He muttered to himself as he stormed towards the front door. His foot inches from the wooden porch when he felt Ingrid grab his arm from behind. Felix looked over his shoulder with stern eyes, the composure he fought for slipping away. “What?!”

“I’m sorry. I just…” Her gaze rose to meet his, intent on shattering his façade. “I need to know that you’re okay. Not _Felix_ okay, but…properly okay.” Her grip on him released as she rubbed her hands together with nervous energy, brow downturned in worry.

 _I hate this_ , the swordsman thought. Even growing up she had the vexing ability to chip away at his character, an empath astute in emotional voyeurism. Nothing made him more apprehensive.

“I’m…” Felix sighed, settling for honesty to shorten the conversation as much as possible. Arms crossed, he continued. “I’m…getting there…” He shook his head, his foot tapping into the grass with small, repeated thuds. “It’s…difficult…re-learning to do things…” His eyes pivoted towards Byleth in a silent plea, wide and blinking with unease.

His lover, reading the Non-verbal cue, chose to forgo her chat with Sylvain to join Felix at his side. She took his arm, hugging it in hers. Turning to the girl she began, “Thank you for coming, Ingrid. It means so much to us that you’re here.”

The blonde passed an evaluative glance between the two—confusion at first, followed by elation. Her skin flushed, her cheeks rising to a delighted smile. “Professor, it’s so good to see you. I had no idea you two were together! Congratulations!”

Sylvain moved towards the group but paused, his jaw set. Thunder rocked the atmosphere, the sky letting loose the first drizzle of a proper Faerghus storm. His head twisted from side to side as the sound of steps approached, his expression stern. “We’re not alone.”

_The servants...? No..._

“You most definitely are not!” A woman’s voice yelled from within the house. Felix spun around quickly to see the large oak doors of the home violently part, a middle-aged woman crossing the threshold with quick precision, her long blue hair flowing behind her as she charged.

 _A trap!_ Felix observed, the glint of a short sword catching his vision. He shoved Byleth out of her path and quickly grabbed the Wo Dao, positioning it defensively just as her blade would have caught his chest. He fought against her force as she pushed into him, her brown eyes quaking with fury.

“Who the hell are you?!” He exclaimed, his voice strained and gruff as he struggled to keep his footing.

“So good of you to come home my darling.” The stranger sneered, kicking him in the stomach with a heeled boot. He was knocked against the railing of the porch steps by the blow, the wind leaving him. He gasped for a breath; one eye closed as she took a step forward.

“W-what did you call me?” The swordsman managed, readying his defenses once again. _She_ _is insane._

“You wound me.” She cast a wind spell, the magic connecting with his hand, sending his weapon zooming into the forest with a flash of green light. His eyes widened as he fumbled for the second sword on his belt, but the woman was suddenly on him, her hand around his wrist.

“You don’t remember your own mother?” Her voice was flat as she spoke, her earthy gaze level with his.

“But…you’re— _Ugh_ ” He winced as she drug the tip of her sword into his forehead creating a deep and seeping gash along the length of his right eyebrow. Blood poured down his face and onto his mouth, the taste of copper leaking in.

“Oh, Felix. That pathetic father of yours has lied about many things. So, so many. I feel pity for you, the victim of another man’s fantasies. And look what it’s made you do to yourself.” Her right foot found the stump of his wrist, pinning it to the railing. He let out a painful yelp as her boot pressed in, ripping several stitches, pushing fresh meat and crimson from the seam.

Felix thrashed, attempting to free himself from her grip, but his mother held fast. He wanted to ask if she’s been observing him, for how long, to what end? So many questions, but none that could outdo the pain pulsing through him, white-hot and radiating as her foot twisted. His gaze drifted over her shoulder, searching for his friends. Only now had he noticed the snarls, fierce and guttural, coming from nearby. Several large wolves circled Sylvain and Ingrid, their gaping maws slack with the anticipation of a quality meal. His head swung back to face her, his rusty eyes narrowed. “L-Let them go if ...it’s me you want.” He managed, sweat pouring from him. His agony-fogged mind thought of Byleth, his heart slamming against his ribs in panic.

_Where is she?!_

“My son.” His mother cooed, her voice lowering. She leaned in, kissing his temple. He caught a floral scent from her, rich and sweet, a summer’s night in childhood. Felix had taken many issues with Rodrigue, but he never expected his father to lie about something so important. “You will not have Fraldarius. I’ve bled for this land; it is mine to ruin as he had ruined me.” Through the haze Felix thought he caught a budding sadness in her eyes. She released him, her icy glare watching the swordsman as he rose to a kneel, his right arm cradled to his chest, the blood that drained from him washing away as the drizzle grew to rain.

She placed her index finger and thumb in her mouth forcing a loud whistle from her lips. The wolves retreated into the fog that had begun creeping in from the beach, a blanket of opaque white extending from the sea and up through the trees. Lowering the hand, she turned her back to the group, sparing an icy glare over her shoulder. “Leave. If you step foot here again, I will kill you myself.”

Felix heard rustling at the foot of the porch. He stood slowly, bent at the waist, craning to get a better look. Sylvain was plucking Byleth from the stone path, unconscious, streaks of red matting the left side of her emerald hair.

His friend looked up at him, nodding. “She’s breathing, just hit her head I think.”

A pang of realization cut through his daze as he remembered shoving her out of the way as they were ambushed. _I never meant to—_

“Snipers!”

His thoughts were cut short by Ingrid’s warning. His eyes scanned the treetops to see several archers positioned, arrows notched, aiming at them. The raucous growls of beasts still persisted from the distance. _We have no choice but to retreat._

*****

Felix sat on the edge of Byleth’s bed, his rusty eyes staring at his lover as she slept. His index finger explored the bandages on the left side of her forehead gently, the claws of guilt reaching up for him as he recalled shoving her from the path of his crazed mother. He had never intended for her to be injured, but still the heels of remorse dug deep.

“Hey...” he whispered. It had been three whole days since Fraldarius, and yet she still remained unconscious. Sylvain had reminded him of her need for excessive rest after trauma but that had done nothing to quell his fears.

 _What if she sleeps for five more years?_ He shook his head, wincing slightly at the pain radiating from the gash above his brow. A sigh escaped him as he fumbled with his boot fastenings, kicking them off one leg at a time, their bulk tumbling to the wooden floor with an echoing thud. His lone hand clumsily undid the clasps of his jacket, draping the discarded material over the bedpost. Felix curled onto the mattress, tucking himself below the comforter, laying on his left side to face her. 

“This is my fault...” his voice was low as he spoke, reaching up to brush her cheek with his wrist. “I’m such a fool. What....what do you even see in me?” He mused. “Standoffish, rude...and my family.” Felix inched closer; his features soft. He kissed her shoulder, rusty eyes locked on her sleeping face. “This turmoil...it’s not yours to burden.” A tear rolled down his cheek silently—for himself, for her, for the frustration of a new mystery that he again never asked for. 

Working up the courage to face his familial responsibilities to a dead father that never cared for him only to be met with literal violence from a mother he thought long gone had taken a toll on the swordsman. It’s not that he _wanted_ the title of Duke Fraldarius, or even that he much cared for the fate of the land. No. It was, more than anything, that he was most comfortable in the battle, both the physical test of skill that comes with leading an army and the mental position of opposing Rodrigue’s ideals. It was a programing, an addiction, as much of who he was as his love for Byleth. He cursed the part of him that _needed_ to see this through, no matter the cost.

He rested his arm across her stomach, his thoughts becoming disjointed, his heavy lids dragging down as exhaustion claimed him.

*****

_Which one would she...?_ Felix blinked, peering into a glass display case. The market bustled behind him as he browsed, the upbeat tune of a lute fought for dominance over the chattering crowd as the Faerghus afternoon drove on. 

“You.” He motioned for the attention of a merchant who was busy polishing novelty weapons. “Give me this.” He pointed down at a white-gold locket beneath the glass. The late-summer wind blew through the tight alleyways of Gautier, the scent of smoked meat and live stock assaulting all who entered. 

“It’s 10,000.” The man retorted; his words bogged down with a heavy Srengian accent. 

Felix’s eyebrow raised. He gestured to a handwritten sign on their left which clearly advertised a price of 7,000 gold. Money was not an issue for him, but he did not appreciate being played. “7,000 as advertised, old man. And another 1,000 for the armored bear.” His hand darted forward, grasping a large brown teddy bear in fabric kingdom armor from behind the withered counter. He shifted to cradle the stuffy in his right arm, his left hand digging through his jacket for the funds while the merchant protested.

“You cannot just take what you like! The price is 7,000 , indeed, but here we charge a noble tax for your kind, 10,000 or no jewelry for you.” 

His brow hardened; vermillion eyes set in a menacing glare. He slid 8,000 worth of gold towards the stranger. The man reached out to count the funds, but Felix’s grip found his wrist, the first pricks of a lightening spell zapping his leathery skin. The merchant pulled back with a yelp, shaking his limb, the flesh turning an angry red where the magic caught.

“ _Don’t cross me._ The locket, now.” After such a turbulent week he had absolutely no patience for this man and his commoner’s grudge. He watched as the case opened and his selection was plucked from the display. The Sreng held it out to him, his hand shaking, muttering something in a quick, foreign language. 

Felix nodded, taking the necklace and pocketing it. He turned and began his venture out of the place, his rusty eyes scanning the busy ally for the route he came in. He had never made a point to venture into Gautier unless battle or obligation took him here, but after the events of Fraldarius it was the nearest and most sensible destination while they regrouped...while Byleth slept.

It was her birthday today, the 25th of Verdant Rain Moon, and yet she dozed on. In the week since the ambush, he had been filling his days with idol labor—dishes, laundry, hunting, training, anything to make the time pass as quickly as it could. Busyness, after all, is the best cure for a wandering mind, but he could not ignore today. He stopped near the canal of the city, his back pressed against the cold stone of a nearby eatery. 

Setting the stuffy down he began fumbling with the locket. Once open, he pulled a small fragment of metal from his jacket—golden and glowing brightly in his grasp. It was a fragment of his Aegis shield, chipped during war. Felix had expected it to lose its power once disconnected with the relic, but the magic lived on and proceeded to activate whenever he was nearby. He settled it within the necklace and flipped the locket shut, the faint glow illuminating through the craftsmanship.

 _I wonder what she’ll say…_ He thought, pangs of doubt and nervousness making themselves known. He stowed the gift and bent over, retrieving the bear from the ground below before continuing his journey back to the Margrave’s estate.

*****

Felix parted the heavy doors of the entry, taking the first steps into Sylvain’s home, when suddenly Sylvain himself came barreling over the threshold, knocking him back, the thick wood lulling shut behind him.

“What the hell, Sylvain?!” He shouted, nearly dropping the armored stuffy as they connected with force. The redhead grabbed his shoulders, chocolate eyes alight with the promise of good news.

“She’s awake! C’mon, this way!” He said, quickly rounding the corner of the building and out of his sight.

 _Finally!_ He thought, earnestly trailing his friend through the lush grass of the house’s grounds. He spotted a white pavilion, Ingrid and Byleth sat across from each other, chuckling to a joke he couldn’t hear. His heart leapt in his chest as he approached, his lover’s gaze pivoting to look at him, the large emerald orbs narrowing as she smiled.

“Felix!” She exclaimed; her voice weaker than he remembered. He climbed the steps of the structure, immediately taking her in his arms. Her body was warm, small against his own, covered in the white silks of a nightgown that allowed him to feel just how delicate she was. His skin buzzed as her hands made their way under his hooded cape, her head resting sideways against his chest.

“Don’t scare me like that again.” He whispered, kissing the top of her head, his eyes closing. The sound of Ingrid shuffling could be heard behind him, her reaching for Sylvain and forcing him away, muttering something about the couple needing privacy. It wasn’t enough to sway Felix’s attention. “I apologize for pushing you…I never meant—” The words were cut off by a kiss on his lips, a gesture he returned eagerly.

“It’s not your fault.” She said, pulling away with a smile. The stuffy in his hand caught her eye and she let out a light chuckle. “That’s cute, what’s the occasion?”

The swordsman blushed, handing her the bear, his eyes moving over to focus on anything but her. “I-It’s your birthday, right…? The 25th….”

“I’ve been asleep that long?” Her voice was a sad realization. She took the bear in her hands, inspecting its plush face. She hugged it to her chest tightly, her eyes closed as she rocked on the heels of her feet. “Thank you so much, beloved. I’m so sorry for worrying you.”

He tipped her chin up with the stump of his wrist, his left hand rummaging in his jacket. Felix pulled the locket from its depths, the glow of his relic shard illuminating Byleth’s face as she stared up at him. “Byleth…I…” No matter how many times he mulled the words over this past week he couldn’t get them quite right. “…I know it’s customary to have a ring but…”

Her eyes widened, her cheeks reddening with the realization of his intention. “Felix…”

“I just…these past few days…” he sighed vehemently, frustrated at his inability to articulate his feelings. “Without you, my blade would grow dull and…just take this, please.” His hand shook, the locket a glowing pendulum as it swayed.

 _This is intolerable._ He thought, wanting nothing more than for this moment to end. The vulnerability of being laid so bare ate at him as the silence hung.

Byleth smiled widely, reaching a hand up to rest the piece against her palm, her thumb running over the details in the white-gold. “I want to hear you ask me before I give you my answer.”

“You know what I mean!” Felix snipped, gritting his teeth. “Will you…be my wife?” After a few seconds of stillness, he turned from her, about to walk down the steps when she grabbed his wrist. He looked back to see large tears streaming from her eyes. In the afternoon sun her hair shinned in whisps of light green, her face a poem of everything good in this accursed world. He doubted the Goddess herself could be more beautiful.

Byleth nodded, throwing herself on him, sending them both crashing into the grass below. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her fiercely as they lay, all his family’s cruelties and mysteries melting between them. As he relished her shape beneath his fingers, he realized that he was no longer on the path his father had groomed him for, that the kingdom expected of him-- a new way had been cut, an uncertain destiny that started by planning a future with her.


	6. Chapter 6

Felix laid in a guest bed of the Gautier estate, wide awake despite the late hour. He held his right forearm in front of him, the limb bent at the elbow, his bandageless wrist close to his face as he inspected the blunt anatomy in the dark. The stitching had been redone by kingdom doctors after the attack by his mother, the skin at the edges almost completely healed in a light crease. Scabbing from the burns had peeled away leaving healthy, pink flesh underneath. Only the center of his injury was still mending, the black sutures creating small ridges as they looped into him.

 _Why is it so painful…?_ The thought was punctuated by an audible groan from deep in his chest as the phantom pains that plagued him shot twisting agony into fingers that didn’t exist.

“F-fuck…” He said weakly, his voice cracking with discomfort.

“Felix?” Byleth questioned, half asleep. The swordsman’s head pivoted to look at his betrothed, her small body curled into a near fetal position, bare beneath the sheet of their bed, her eyes struggling to open. Leaning over, he kissed the skin of her neck, smiling at the small hum of contentment he roused from her.

“Sleep.” He whispered, pulling the blankets over her shoulder, tucking the excess fabric under her waist. His right arm cradled to his chest as he swung his feet over the bedside, striving for as little noise as possible. Felix grabbed a black hooded sweatshirt from his travel bag and guided it over his chest, wincing as he moved his wrist through the sleeve, the cuff hanging loose where he unnaturally stopped. The ghostly crush returned to press on his absent palm, the feeling of horrible weight pushing into his missing pieces.

 _It's so bad tonight._ He rolled his shoulder in attempt to displace his body’s focus as he bent at the waist, rummaging. _Where is…? Ah._ He pulled a medical sling from beneath his pile of things, the dark fabric blending into the night. Looping it over his head, he slowly rested his arm within its support. Felix absolutely hated wearing the contraption, but the position that it held him in eased his condition a bit when it was at its worst.

He kicked around his small selection of belongings lightly, searching for trousers but settling on the bottoms of his old Blue Lion’s loungewear. His lone hand fumbled his legs in, one at a time, and pulled the shorts up as gracefully as he could manage. Circling the bed he knelt before Byleth as she slept, drinking in her peaceful countenance. The locket he proposed with that afternoon let out a faint glow as he approached, the Golden light shining its majesty onto the pale skin of her neck as it hung.

Indulging for a moment he reached out, thumbing her cheekbone gently, relishing the softness of her face beneath his touch.

 _I can’t believe I have a future with you._ He thought, a blush heating his cheeks as the ring on his own hand caught a ray of moonlight seeping in from the window. Byleth said It was passed down from Jeralt around the time of his murder, a symbol of her love and trust. The delicate band felt heavy on his finger as he pondered the expectations of a husband and house leader, hints of anxiety edging into his rosy dreams.

So much had changed for him over these past few weeks – being maimed, resolving to take the title of Duke only to lose his position to a mother he thought dead, hints of a secret agenda Rodrigue may have been using them all towards. It made him dizzy just contemplating the reality of it all. Mostly, though, he feared it would eventually drive a wedge between him and the one thing that kept his life grounded through the madness.

_I just…hope its not a burdensome one. For your sake._

His fingers soaked in the warmth of her skin as they cascaded along her delicate brow, lovingly brushing pastel fringe from her forehead.

“I love you.” He whispered, selfishly hoping for her to wake and respond. Still, the professor laid, the heavy breaths of sleep coming and going in an effortless rhythm as she slumbered. Felix stood, taking one last glance at his beloved before making his way across the room and into the cold Faerghus night, the wooden door lulling to a shut behind him.

The weather was dreary, the sky drizzling rain onto the soft earth, coating Gautier in a wet sheen of damp. A light fog rolled through from the nearby river, embracing the winding crevices of the estate as Felix walked the grounds. The swordsman had no destination in mind, though he quickly found one when he caught a glimpse of Sylvain sitting on a fishing pier at the water’s edge, his long legs dangling naked toes into the depths.

 _Why is he out so late…?_ He mused, approaching his friend, the soaked boards of the dock creaking with spongy protest beneath his loafers. Once closer, he noted the redhead’s bloodshot eyes, dark circles cradling chocolate orbs, his fiery locks disheveled in tufts of frizzy layering. Sylvain looked over his shoulder as he neared, a faint smile breaking his melancholy.

“Can’t sleep?” He asked dryly, almost immediately turning his attention back to the river. A night patrol was marching on the other side, their torches distant stars burning through the dark.

“Hand.” Felix answered simply, recalling the last time someone asked about his woes – Raphael’s huge jaw crushing down on meat, telling him he was haunted by his own body. The fool was right, in his own way. Even now he could feel severed nerves skulking the halls of his ethereal limb, dragging their feet painfully across the floor.

“Mm.” Sylvain hummed as he kicked his right foot, rippling the water below. After a moment, he added, “About Fraldarius….I wanted to apologize. I should have been armed, I wasn’t thinking.”

“You should have been, yes.” He responded, annoyance bare in his tone as he sat beside his friend, the water-logged boards sending an icy chill through the skin of his legs. Pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up he continued, “Though…none of us could have anticipated the threat.” His rusty eyes downturned as he spoke, focusing on a crack in the pier near his right foot. A few more years of rot and the structure will crumble into the blackness below.

“Felix…your mom. She wasn’t always like that. She loved you guys.” A splash came from beneath them as he retracted his legs, hugging them to his chest with wet arms, his chin resting in the space between his knees.

 _He…knew my mother?_ The swordsman paused, contemplating his past. Rodrigue had told him his mother passed away shortly after he was born due to the illness that swept Faerghus when he was only a few years old. He remembered her face to an extent, blurry features set in pale skin, cascades of wavy blue hair, a faint floral scent as she held him. When asked of her, his father always changed the subject, resolving that past is past and their focus should be on protecting the future—protecting the boar. He never thought to inquire about her through his friends but, given recent events, could not resist.

“You…remember her?” His voice was low, more emotion creeping in than he was comfortable with. His hand rubbed the gash above his brow from her blade, her words echoing through him. _It is mine to ruin as he has ruined me._ _What did she mean? What was he doing to her? To us?_

“A bit” Sylvain sighed, tipping his head back to take in the murky night sky. “She taught me how to write. You were always there, too, glued to her side. Though you were so small you probably don’t recall much. She would make us sweets, you pushed them away every time.” He chuckled lightly at the memory before continuing. “She was never with your father. Thinking back now, she was probably avoiding him…”

Felix leaned forward a bit, his free elbow resting on his knee, his head cradled sideways in his hand to face his friend. A swath of damp, blue fringe obscured his right eye. “…Thank you. I’ve never heard much of her.” He dug through his past to try and unearth the scene described. Though faint, his recollection did bear fruit—a flash of workbooks and a plate full of homemade pastry. _Cookies…maybe?_ His brow furrowed as his concentration deepened, casting lines in hopes that further details would bite.

“Hopefully, Dimitri will be able to fill in some blanks, or at least know where Senan is. He should be arriving tomorrow.”

The swordsman hated that the boar was summoned from his throne to assist with the issues of his house. A king’s resources were vast, his connections solid due to position, but the embarrassment of needing to rely on such a beast to sort his familial troubles ate at him.

“…You’re out here so late because of Fraldarius?” Felix asked, hoping to divert the subject to something more stomachable.

“No…it’s not as complicated.” Sylvain shook his head, his tresses properly soaked through with rain as the sky opened up, a helmet of red clinging to his sharp features. “Congratulations, by the way, about the profess—” He paused, adjusting his wording. “About Byleth. You…love her?”

Felix let out a scoff, his composure slipping. “What kind of question is that? Why would I propose to someone I didn’t love?” His anger melted into awkwardness at his frank words, a blush growing on his cheeks. “I…I mean, yes. She’s…important…to me.”

“Alright, Casanova, no need to get all flustered.” He straightened his legs out, crossing his arms as he continued. “I’m…jealous of you. You make it look so easy, intuitive even. You two just _get_ each other. Ingrid doesn’t understand me like that. There’s always something to disagree on.”

 _I never thought about it that way._ His lover’s effortless smile entered his mind. Throughout their relationship, even before it turned romantic, she had a way of knowing what he needed. Inviting him to partake in his favorite tea after a hard battle, training with him after his father’s death to help him process, struggling against his rudeness when he was maimed—all things that bettered his life. All because of her. “I am…fortunate.” He observed aloud.

His friend chuckled, holding his arm before him, turning it over as if to inspect it. “Maybe I should lose a hand, too. Ingrid might show me a little more compassion.”

His heart leapt, head buzzing with rage as he stood. “ _Goodbye._ ” He hissed, storming away from the pier, his hand balled into a fist, his nails digging painful half-moons into his palm. Part of him knew it was meant as a joke, but he was overwhelmingly hurt by the sentiment. _How could he say something so ridiculous?!_

“Felix! Felix, c’mon, I’m sorry!” He heard as quick and heavy footsteps followed him up the path. Sylvain reached out, grabbing his arm, but he recoiled, quickly pivoting to swing a full-force punch into the man’s left eye. “Shit!” He yelped, hunched over slightly, both hands covering his injury.

“I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS!” Felix boomed, his deep voice echoing through the still Faerghus night. “It wasn’t some trade that I bargained for! It’s debilitating. My sword, I can’t even…” His rant trailed off as tears came, slowly and then all at once. He began walking again, almost at the door of his guest room by the time the redhead caught up. Sylvain ran around him, holding his arms out, bent at the elbows, palms facing him in surrender.

“I get it, I get it, I’m sorry.” He let his right arm fall to his side, his left hand gently rubbing below his eye where the blow caught, an angry purple bruise already making itself known. “Fuck, all those brawling seminars paid off, I guess.”

“Good. I hope it hurts.” The words were followed by an uncomfortable silence. Felix reached past him for the door to his room, about to grab the brass handle when the heavy wood swung open from inside revealing Byleth, small in her white nightgown. Her green hair was unkempt from her rest, the large emerald eyes he loved connecting with his instantly, concern lacing her gaze.

“Beloved…?” She asked lowly, taking in his appearance. “You’re soaked, what in Fodlan are you doing?” She reached out, rubbing his slung arm gently. “Are you—”

Felix wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, a small smile curling his lips. “I’m fine.”

Sylvain approached from behind him, blinking heavily as his face ballooned. “Hey professor, sorry to bug you but could you take a look at my eye? Your hubby here has a hell of a swing.”

Byleth’s head turned slightly, her eyebrow raised. “What’s going on?” Her tone was authoritative, the same she used when students would get into bouts at the Officer’s Academy. Her arms crossed as she looked at Felix, scalpel out, prepared to dissect his answer.

 _Why am I the one in trouble here?!_ He thought, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I’ll tell you about it inside, okay?”

*****

Byleth shook her head as she rung out a cloth compress, placing it gently over Sylvain’s eye. He hummed in contentment as the icy water worked against the swelling. “You should really be more sensitive.” She said lowly so Felix wouldn’t hear her from the adjacent room where he was changing.

“It was just a joke.” He answered, shifting his bulk, trying to find comfort atop the unpleasantly small stool on which he sat. “Though, it’s Felix, I don’t know what I expected.”

Byleth understood that Sylvain had known her fiancée since they were children and that his antics were mostly well-intentioned and harmless, however, she could not help but sense some venom behind this one. “He’s been through a lot of change recently and---”

“So, why were you really out there? Felix asked as he approached. He had traded his damp clothing for a simple black robe, his left hand reaching up to dry his hair with a towel, the royal blue layers eagerly shifting as he tussled them to and fro. “Surely not just to irk me?” He was standing close to her now, the pine scent of the soap he favorited wafting over at her. She smiled as the locket around her neck illuminated at his presence, reaching for it absentmindedly, feeling the delicate white-gold between her fingers. He said something else, spice in his tone as his rusty eyes narrowed with residual anger, but she couldn’t quite make out what it was through her shaky focus. He was so handsome—the sharpness of his nose, his strong jawline, broad shoulders that she loved to rest against. Even in the academy when he was more callous and aloof she couldn’t help but be smitten with the swordsman, so capable and icy, like Sothis herself built him just for her.

“Just spit it out!” Felix shouted, ripping her from the solace of a daydream. Reaching over she grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly.

“Shhh.” She vocalized. He turned to face her, the hardness of his expression rounding a bit as he stammered.

“S-sorry.” He returned the grip on her hand, thumbing her skin gently, his breath leveling as he calmed.

“Ingrid and I…are taking a bit of a break.” Sylvain said, removing the cloth from his eye which was now completely swollen shut, deep blues and purples marking the tender flesh around his injury. “She wants kids, marriage. I just…I’m not ready. And this crest...I don’t want to force that life onto someone.”

Byleth nodded in understanding. This issue has been a common thread between the redhead’s personal woes for as long as she has known him. Fearing his value being based on genetics rather than any merit of character or accomplishment. It was a constant source of anxiety for him, the unsung foundation of his philanthropy. “Sylvain—”

“Is that all?” Felix grumbled, rubbing his temple with the stump of his wrist, his eyes closed tightly, as if he had to laboriously dig for reasoning. “The ‘stud-horse’ thing again?”

Sylvain’s lone eye pivoted away, gazing out the window as the first licks of dawn broke through a cloudy sky. “You make it sound simple.” His voice was low, wounded. He scrunched the medical rag in his hands, a small trickle of water falling to the wooden floor below.

“It _is_ simple.” He countered, obvious frustration behind the veil, his heavy eyes narrowing. “Do you love her or not?”

“Felix…” She whispered, rubbing his arm in a silent plea for him to think before going further.

“I do.” Their friend admitted, dropping his head into his hands. “I just…I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want what happened to Miklan to repeat itself with our children.”

Felix pulled away from her, squatting down to level with the man. “It won’t, because you’re…a good person.” He admitted with hesitation, chewing the last words as he said them. “You would be a good father, a good husband. It’s foolish to sell yourself short because of another man’s mistakes.”

Byleth smiled, surprised at the kindness in her lover’s voice. She rubbed Sylvain’s back gently as small sobs escaped him, his large shoulders heaving with distressed breaths.

“T-Thank you both.” He managed through the tears, swallowing forcefully.

“Seeing you upset is…annoying.” The swordsman confessed, vermillion orbs downcast in thought. The redhead suddenly pulled him into a tight embrace. She watched as her beloved’s eyes widened in discomfort, but ultimately relaxed as he patted his friend’s back with his wrist, the excess fabric of the dark robe shuffling vacantly as he did so.

Shaking her head, the professor’s unbeating heart warmed. “I’ll make us some tea.” She said, rising to give the two some privacy, exhaling a light chuckle once she was alone in the adjacent room. Friendships are a complicated and evolving project for anyone, but those two had always been especially amusing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This work has been updated to an M rating because of graphic violence and major character death from this chapter forward. Just FYI!**

“Too much merriment.” Felix scoffed as he and Byleth roamed the streets of Gautier, the air filled with celebration as the city anticipated the King’s arrival. “It’s almost like a proper festival.” He observed, taking in the revelries—street dancers endowed with silks and gems twirling themselves in flurries of color, vendors from across the territory preparing pop-up displays to sell arms, meats, and novelties. People from all over Faerghus had migrated to see King Dimitri, _The Savior King_ , as he graced the estate over the next few days. Of course, these unsuspecting commoners had no idea of his personal woes or the threat Fraldarius potentially faces, they are simply looking to bask in the celebrity of a royal and the potential business his crowds may bring. The realization made his brow harden, annoyance creeping in.

Byleth reached over, taking the stump of his wrist in her hand. “Always so somber. You must like events like this, even just a bit.” Her thumb made short strokes on his skin as she spoke. He looked at her, his rusty eyes softening as their gaze caught. Breathing deep, he couldn’t help but relish the smell of cooking venison, the sounds of a plucky lute reverberating through the stone walls of nearby establishments.

“I…appreciate the music.” He confessed, stopping for a moment to face her. Music had always been a draw for Felix, the somber notes of stringed instruments especially. When he was young, he resolved that after he bested Glenn in a duel, he would reward himself with lessons. As he stands today, brotherless and one-handed, the sentiment seems like nothing more than the dream of a foolish child. 

_“Your training must always come first. We are the shield of his highness, protectors of both the royal family and all in our territory. Everything else is inconsequential.”_

Rodrigue’s voice echoed through him like a specter, his words ghostly claws shredding from the casket up into the cool earth.

Sensing his discomfort Byleth wrapped her free arm around his waist, the locket glowing between them as she leaned in for a kiss, her grip on his limb tightening. He obliged, his forehead resting against hers briefly as his hand found the small of her back beneath the mauve traveling cloak she wore. It was a long, lightweight satin positioned atop her summer wear, the oversized hood shielding his betrothed from any who would cause commotion at the sight of the Archbishop. A sense of relief washed over him as they shared the moment, thankful to be pulled back from his father’s graveside.

“I like the music too, though it reminds me a bit of Annette.” She said solemnly, pulling back to look up at him, her large eyes dancing across the features of his face as she awaited response. A frown found her as she recalled their former friend as well as, Felix assumed, the fate that the sorceress succumbed to during the war.

He nodded, acknowledging her sentiment. Annette had fallen during the final stand against Edelgard, a victim of that grotesque husk—one of the Emperor’s inhuman arms swung a crushing blow into her skull, spewing bone and brain alike onto her battalion that watched in terror. So are the horrors of war.

“What did she often sing? Lakes…and bakes?” Byleth asked, her brow furrowed as she rummaged for the line.

“Steaks and cakes. Mountains of them, apparently.” He corrected. The lyrics were atrocious, mere childish whimsy uttered in the heat of a task, but they stuck with him all the same. _There goes Annette, the girl with the funny ideas about food!_ The swordsman recalled her saying. _Losing a hand is hard, but…at least I’m still here._

Byleth began swinging his arm between them tenderly as they walked, her neck stretched to see past him towards a line of Kingdom merchants on the left—silver bows, brave swords, iron lances—rows and rows of armaments were on display, their metals glistening with fresh polish. He smiled genuinely as they continued in silence for a bit, his mood becoming lighter as he watched her gawk at various weaponry, making mental notes of her inclinations for potential gifts down the line.

_We really are cut from the same cloth._

“My family accompanied Lambert on a trip like this once.” Felix began, breaking the long quiet. He looked over at his betrothed, taking in the feeling of her warm hand, wishing he had fingers to lace between hers. “It was to Galatea, Ingrid’s territory. The area was plagued by financial woes and bad harvests, yet still the subjects celebrated our arrival. Such foolishness. Dimitri and I couldn’t even make our way to the Knight’s Hall without fuss—people trying to force offerings and praise with every step.” He sighed at the memory, his rusty eyes closing for a moment with recollection.

“How old were you?” She asked, curiosity inflecting her tone. The pair stopped at the city’s entrance, blending into a large crowd that had gathered to see the Royal Escort’s impending arrival. He followed her towards a bench beneath a large oak tree, the plentiful shade guarding them against the afternoon sun. The swordsman positioned himself at an angle to face his fianceé, arms crossed in his lap as he slouched a bit, fighting pangs of hunger and fatigue. The incident with Sylvain last night had robbed him of sleep and his muscles were protesting with sensitivity.

“I was probably ten or so.” The words hung between them for a moment as he rubbed his eyes. “My father especially hated it, always afraid large gatherings could pose as cover for assassination attempts. I would say he was paranoid, but my old man was proven right at Duscar so…” He looked over at her, noticing the sadness tugging her features. Not wanting to cause distress he scooted closer, running his hand nervously through shifty layers of royal blue.

“It’s…in the past. There’s no use in stringing gravestones around my neck. Right now I just want to be here, want to be with you.” The words were a near whisper as he reached into the hood of her cloak, stroking her cheek with his wrist. She brought her hand up to meet him, holding his touch to the side of her face as it reddened with blush.

“Felix…” The pattering of his heart quickened as she said his name, the tired muscles of his leg sang as her right hand brushed the outside of his thigh. A smile swirled in her eyes, the emerald pools reflecting hints of yellow as the sun began to sink below the adjacent mountains basking Gautier in a warm glow.

“Do you remember our first spar?”

He nodded, resting his arm in his lap once more. It was a fond memory for him, something he thought about regularly. Byleth in her mercenary outfit, the loose sleeves swinging wildly as she twirled, faster than him at every turn. Even then, before they could so much as call themselves friends, he admired her beauty and competence. “You pinned me. Quickly, too. Not since Glenn had I encountered someone so skilled.” His mind surfaced an image of her above him, a mane of blue hair hanging on either side of her sweaty countenance, her weight propped up on a wooden training sword that stuck in the dirt by his left ear.

“I did, but it was closer than you give yourself credit for. We’ve always been evenly matched, though you seem to take every narrow victory I edge on you as a crushing defeat. We should practice again soon, I’d like to try something.”

_Is she serious?_

Suddenly feeling very uneasy, Felix sat upright, looking into the crowd as the chatter grew louder. He rubbed his right arm subconsciously, the white fabric of his shirt warm beneath his fingers. “Byleth…my hand, I—”

“That’s why I’ve been thinking of new techniques.” Byleth said softly, taking his chin between her thumb and forefinger, pulling his head to face her. He blinked heavily, considering her words.

“Like…one-handed combat? I’m a little clumsy with my left, I’m not sure—” he stopped as she crawled onto his lap, her legs on either side of him, hands flat against the blue fabric of his jacket as she kissed his lips deeply. Her touch teased the sensitive skin of his neck beneath his collar and his head tilted forward in response, resting against her chest. If he wasn’t sleep deprived he might protest such public affection; but between his own fatigue and the bustle of festivities Felix found himself content with this position. He moved his arms to rest on her hips, his singular hand dangling limply against her lower back.

“Just…try for me?” The question was a whisper in his ear—low, lovely, and irrefutable.

_Goddess, her voice._

“For you.” He echoed, wondering to himself what she could have thought up. Without his dominant hand his swordplay was sloppy, a shadow of the poise and precision he honed since childhood. He had tried several times to offset the amputation by utilizing his right arm as defense with the Aegis shield, however, with no anatomy to stop the relic from sliding forward his efforts were always futile.

_A custom rig, perhaps?_ The notion came and went as his vermillion eyes struggled to stay open, exhaustion beckoning him.

Byleth smiled widely, resting her head on his as his full weight leaned against her, her arms holding him close. He heard a light chuckle through the haze as she muttered something about Dimitri being here soon.

“Mmm.” Felix hummed as he drifted further away from consciousness. The boar was the farthest thing from his mind as he relished in their shapes melting together, the soft contours of his lover nestled against his rough edges, a silent lullaby wrapped in summer sun.

*****

“Professor! It has been too long!” Dimitri boomed as he eyed her from the entrance of the Margrave’s dining hall. His large frame jogged up, armored boots pounding against the ornamental carpeting with deep thuds. His arms were suddenly around her, muscular and crushing as they squeezed delicate shoulders.

Byleth let out a small squeak, her right eye closed as he lifted her from the ground.

“D-Dimitri, hello, it’s good to see you!” The greeting was strained as her lungs fought for breath within his embrace, the hardness of his breastplate digging into her cheek.

“Boar, you’re crushing her, let her go!” Felix demanded, his tone awash with anger. Byleth let out a sigh of relief as the King set her down gently, his inhuman grip uncoiling. Her betrothed was suddenly at her side, his hand lightly massaging the ache from her shoulder. “Are you okay?” The question was earnest, ire weighing down his dark features as he bent over to level with her face.

She nodded, about to protest his overprotection, but he was already facing Dimitri, his hand on his hip, right arm swinging gestures to accentuate his anger, the empty white cuff of his sleeve shaking wildly. “Barbaric. You need to learn to moderate yourself!” He scolded, the layers of his hair shuffling in waves of blue as he moved. “All that strength and no control. You never change.”

“But you do, Felix.” The King said, clapping a large paw onto his bicep as his lone blue eye narrowed happily. “You are…very different from when we last met.” The kindness in his words seemed to have caught the swordsman off guard, he stammered for a response.

“W-What…?”

“I am conflicted.” Dimitri rose a hand to his chin, his gloved fingers curled beneath as he considered his wording. “You called me here under such turbulent circumstances, yet I was just brought word of your engagement. I’m not sure if I should be rejoicing or mourning with you.”

“I…appreciate that.” The swordsman uttered, reeling back his rage a bit, the stump of his wrist rubbing the ring on his finger absentmindedly. “I suppose I should thank you for coming. My father has left us one hell of a mess. It will be…beneficial…to have your aid in sorting it out.”

_What a pleasant surprise._ Byleth thought as she watched the two men sit at the dining table, their topics of discussion changing as they settled in. She had worried that, given their history, the pair would do nothing but unproductively bicker, but she was happy to be proven wrong. The professor joined them, taking a seat beside Felix, her hand finding his as they awaited their meal.

The King propped his head against his large palm, golden locks swaying as he leaned. His eye flicked between the couple in silence for a moment, apparently soaking in the image of their relationship. “Felix…about what happened at your home—” He was cut off by a loud bang at the door of the hall as Hapi came running through, her arms filled with scrolls of parchment and books. Her face dripped sweat as she approached them, dropping the contents across the tabletop with reckless intention.

“Hey, Didi, sorry I’m late.” She huffed, adjusting the bosom of her shirt as she sat beside Dimitri. “So many folks wanted to talk to me just because I rode here with you! It would have been rude to say no. Plus, I could see your big head through the crowd from a mile away.”

“ _Didi?_ ” Felix echoed, stifling a laugh. The professor had never seen him wear a smile so large, his rusty eyes alight with the tickle of humor.

“Oh, hey Chatterbox. Hey mystery man.” Hapi said, passively at first, her fiery eyes landing on their entangled hands. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you Fe?” She gasped at the ring on his finger. “ That ring, you ARE! Mr. Chatterbox it is so nice to meet you. I heard that you would be all grumpy but you look pretty pleasant to me. I like your swords. Do you use both of them? Or are they just for sh—”

“Aha, uh, Felix, this is Hapi. She is my…confidant?” He said, clearing his throat to better ground himself. “She has experience with the group that Kronya and Solon were in allegiance with six years ago, Those Who Slither in the Dark. We’ve been tracking contacts that could potentially reveal the location of their base. With the history that organization has of body doubles, I could not rule out the possibility that they may be involved with the incident in Fraldarius.”

_Those Who Slither…could they really be behind what happened to Felix’s mother? If so, what would that mean for Rodrigue? For…_ Byleth looked at her betrothed, an anxious energy seemed to have found him, his leg bouncing rhythmically beside her.

“My name is Felix.” He began, a hint of venom in his tone. “Dimitri…you…really think that you have a lead on this?” His grip on her hand tightened, his palm becoming slick with sweat as his fingers squirmed nervously between hers.

“We…may know where Senan is.” The King disclosed, his yellow brow furrowing. “Though we’re not sure if he’s alive or dead at this point. I have Dedue moving to the area with a small escort to confirm. Hopefully they bring good news.”

“He could be an invaluable source of information—When and how the territory was usurped being utmost important.” She added, thinking back to the crazed look of her apparent mother-in-law. She had never seen such utter desolation in a person’s eyes. _To attack her own son…_

“Well, it seems as if she has been forging Senan’s name for quite some time. The Kingdom has been receiving correspondence from Fraldarius regularly with no inkling of misconduct until your summons.” Dimitri’s eye pivoted to Felix, the blue orb studying his reaction. “We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

The swordsman nodded silently as the words hung, the stump of his hand delving through the loose materials scattered about—maps of Faerghus, official documentation of various origin. Byleth knew he was looking for nothing in particular, just attempting to appear busy while he processed the information. She wanted to hold him, to siphon his pain away, if only for a moment.

“Wow, lotsa tension here. You okay, Fe?” Hapi asked, leaning forward, her unkempt hair swaying in thick red tufts as she focused on him.

“I’m fine.” He snipped as a row of servants finally brought out their meals, the smell of baked pheasant wafting up at the group as slices of cooked bird and potatoes were positioned before them on elaborately embellished dinnerware, flecks of gold peeking out through the craftsmanship. “Let’s just eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a couple of days late! There will be another update later this week <3 Also, the beautiful fan art you see was commissioned by @Negyak on twitter, I really encourage you to check out their work! They did my sleepy boi justice :)


	8. Chapter 8

Byleth smiled, scooting a goblet of wine across the table to Ingrid, her feet curled beneath the tall stool on which she sat, her toes barely reaching the plush carpet below. It had been some time since the Blue Lions had been together and with so much unknown about their task ahead, the professor suggested the group take the night off to indulge while they can. This girl, though, looked far from merry.

“You seem tense. What’s on your mind?”

Her gaze wandered towards the far end of the lounge to see the rest of them—Dimitri, Sylvain, Felix, and Hapi—in an animated conversation about battle logistics. She wanted nothing more than to join them, considering her area of expertise, but felt obligated to her friend and the unsung melancholy radiating from her.

Felix looked back at his fiancée from across the way, his rusty eyes pleading for help in the awkward social space he found himself. She reached up, offering him a wave as Dimitri’s large arm clapped around his shoulders causing him to jump, his thick blue layers shuffling with the sudden movement.

“Byleth…” Ingrid began, pushing the goblet back towards her with a shaky hand. Her face was somehow paler than usual, the strands of her blonde hair frizzy and unkempt as they lay atop her hooded sweatshirt. “I apologize, I haven’t been feeling well lately.”

Concerned, she turned her full attention to the girl, one hand propping her head up, the other holding her own drink to her lips. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is it something white magic would help?” As a Gremory, she had ample experience with all kinds of battle wounds and illness, though there seemed to be more subtext to Ingrid’s words than she was letting on. Byleth’s eyes narrowed slightly, trying to piece together the details before her.

_Pale, fatigued, dark circles, perhaps some nausea….Adrestian flu, maybe?_

“Nothing so serious.” Her friend said with a sigh, her grassy stare drifting towards Sylvain who was busy lying about the source of his swollen eye to their guests. “I’m…pregnant.” She whispered, features downturned with the weight of her honesty.

Byleth choked on a swig of wine, the bitter grape flavor rising into her nose as she coughed.

“W-what?” She managed, catching her breath after a moment, waving off a concerned look from her lover, her head shaking in reassurance. Refocusing, the professor leaned forward, her voice low as she continued. “Does Sylvain know?”

“I was trying my best to tell him, but…in the lead-up to it he got so angry. Now we’re ‘on a break’ ”. Below the table Ingrid’s hand rested on her stomach, her thumb making short strokes over the cotton of her shirt.

“And how do you feel? About being a mother, I mean.” Byleth knew that she had complex thoughts regarding family life—being born into a small noble house that had to constantly fight to keep status, Count Galatia tried to arrange innumerable suitors for her to marry and produce heirs. It was always a point of contention between the two and the main sour of their relationship.

“I’m…excited? It’s not the way I envisioned my life going, but I love Sylvain. I love our baby. I just…hope he loves us too.” Tears welled in her eyes as she pulled nervously at the skin of her cuticles, exposing an angry red strip of flesh by her right thumbnail, a dollop of blood rising into the night air.

“Don’t talk that way…” Her hand found Ingrid’s across the table. “You know he does. He’s just…Sylvain. I’m sure he’ll come around once you’ve told him everything.”

“Well, it’s not like I can hide it forever. I’m already showing a bit, hence the baggy clothes.” She admitted, carefully sliding off the stool, brushing her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve as she made way to the opposite side of the table. Taking Byleth’s hand she placed it on her midsection, gliding her fingers over a small but obvious curvature beneath the fabric.

“How can we help?” The question hung for a moment, her emerald eyes glancing to the boys, making sure they were still distracted. The King was holding Felix steady for a moment while Hapi poured the group another round.

_Is he…?_

“Just…maybe we can see what Felix thinks? Or Dimitri? Before I tell him…” Ingrid sunk her hands into the front pocket of her shirt as she spoke, grassy eyes locked on Sylvain, watching him laugh heartily at some unknown joke.

“Here’s your chance.” Byleth observed as Felix stumbled over to the pair, his dark features woozy with the influence of ale. Smiling, she took his hand, her right arm around his back to help him balance.

_He seems happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him drunk before._

“Listen…” He began, bending over to level with her, wisps of blue hair covering his vermillion eyes. “Can I tell you…can I tell you something?” The words were low, his deep voice struggling to be. Chuckling she nodded, pulling him a little closer as he swayed.

“Beloved, how much have you had to dri---”

“Byleth please, it’s important, okay? I need to know you’re lis…” the sentiment trailed off as his brow furrowed, contemplating the pronunciation. “You’re listening to me.” He reached up with the stump of his wrist in an attempt to grab her chin, his limb gliding through the air before her with failed effort. “Fucking hand…” he muttered.

“I’m here, Felix.” She said warmly, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the cheek, his large frame melting into her a bit, causing her to shuffle positions in her seat.

“I’m going to get stronger for you…” he declared, his arms wrapping around her tightly. “As your husband, I have to…if anything happened to you, I…”

Byleth blinked in silence, waiting for him to continue.

Ingrid rubbed his back, a smile growing against her despondency. “It’s nice to see you being so open.” She commented.

The professor looked up at their friend for silent approval as she stroked her lover’s hair. Taking her nod as such she nuzzled her face next to Felix’s ear, whispering softly. “I’m going to tell you something, but I need you to keep calm. Can you do that for me?”

The swordsman stood to a slouch, his left hand on one side of her head and his wrist on the other, his skin hot against her temples as alcohol warmed him. “Are you okay?” His stare danced across her features, tilting her head side to side as if inspecting her for injury.

“Ingrid is pregnant.”

He blinked, silent for a moment before gaining a bit of composure. Felix leaned his back against the table, his right arm around Byleth’s shoulders as his attention turned toward the girl. “You…are…?” A long pause pressed into them before he continued. “You have to te…tell him.” He stumbled, rubbing the skin of his forehead in a circular motion.

“How, though? He’s so…you know…” She crossed her arms, apparently pondering options as she glanced at the other side of the room, her grassy eyes widening as the remnants of their group approached.

 _Here we go._ Byleth thought, exchanging a concerned glance with her betrothed as Sylvain sat next to them, his pale face red with intoxication. 

“I finally got him to drink, Professor.” His words slurred a bit as he pointed at Felix. “And boy is he a lightweight.” His left eye was still swollen shut, the purple bruise yellowing at the edges. He looked to Ingrid who had turned her back to them, her hands absentmindedly flipping through the pages of a book she plucked from a nearby shelf.

“Fe, you’re going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning. Come see me then for a spell, yeah?” Hapi advised from across the table. Byleth’s brow raised as she watched her lean into Dimitri, close enough for her hair to graze his bicep. The King looked nervous, beads of sweat matting his blonde bangs, but he made no move to put distance between them.

_Confidant, huh?_

_“Sylvain.”_ Felix huffed, grabbing the redhead’s sleeve forcefully. “Talk to Ingrid. Now.”

_Oh no._

“Alright, let’s get you to bed.” She announced quickly, pulling her fiancé to stand upright, his arm still around her neck. Her hand found his wrist as he hunched over slightly, unable to fully function in his current state. “You’ve had a bit too much.”

Dimitri’s lone eye widened as he turned to Sylvain, his voice fumbling between concern and tipsiness. “Oh, are you two fighting? I would be happy to mediate if you wanted to talk---”

“No, Byleth, it’s pointless to put if off!” Felix’s words boomed over the King’s , his icy gaze catching her from the side.

“I’M PREGNANT!” Ingrid screamed, throwing the book she held on the ground with a loud _thwack_ , the sound echoing through the silence as she spun to face them, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m…pregnant, okay?” She repeated, cradling her face in her palms as her shoulders heaved with hefty sobs.

Sylvain blinked heavily, his brow down turning as much as the swelling would allow. After a moment of contemplation he stood, jogging to her side. “Hey, hey…” he began, kneeling before her, his hand making long strokes on her thigh. “This is…good, right? Ingrid? Look at me.”

Sniffling, she dropped her arms, bloodshot eyes staring down into her lover’s face as he took her hands in his. “You’re…not upset?” She asked weakly, her voice raspy in the aftermath of the outburst.

“I’m…not confident in my ability to be a good father. But I love you. I love you so much…That’s gotta count for something, right?” He stood, slowly taking the girl in a tight embrace, rocking gently to calm her.

“Lets…give them some privacy. We’ll regroup in the morning?” Dimitri reasoned, nodding at the Professor. He turned, his bulky cape swaying behind him as he led a chuckling Hapi from the lounge and into the adjacent hallway.

“Finally. I hope that’s the last of their…drama…” Felix grumbled as they crossed the threshold into the next room. His foot tripping against the underside of an area rug, nearly dragging them both onto the floor. Byleth caught her balance on a large couch, the plush velvet cushioning her palm as she struggled against his weight. Straightening out, she brought him to stand once more, inspecting him for injury. His rusty eyes were only half-open, glossy slits staring at her longingly.

“You’re…beautiful…” he smiled, his handless limb fighting with the loose fabric of his sleeve as he tried to stroke her cheek. “Like…a goddess…”

His body leaned against hers, the locket around her neck glowing radiantly in response. Felix kissed her deeply, the bitter taste of alcohol seeping into her through his lips.

 _He’s so far gone._ A small giggle escaped her as her face flushed. She relished the feeling of his hand grazing against her lower hip, his clumsy fingers bunching up the fabric of her dress to touch bare skin. _Though…I could get used to this._

*****

 _I wonder what she’s thinking?_ Sylvain pondered, his head still swimming with the influence of ale as the couple entered their quarters. He was not one to shy away from conversation, but the circumstances made him weary at best, untrusting himself to say and do the things expected of him in this moment.

He sat on the side of their bed, fumbling with the fastenings of his boots. Somewhere between the swollen eye and his drunken dizziness a simple task became a mystery.

“Ugh…why is this so hard?!”

“Let me.” Ingrid giggled, leaning before him to tug at the laces. He felt the shoes loosen as she worked, one by one his feet free of their burden. “Mmm…” she hummed, sitting beside him. Her left hand rested on her midsection as she closed her eyes tightly.

_She looks uncomfortable._

“What’s the matter?” He asked gently, reaching out to rest a hand beside her own, feeling the small curve of her stomach beneath his fingers. His heart quickened with the reality of the situation—he would be a father in a few months. A whole life, separate from his own, small and helpless, entirely dependent on them and their choices.

“Just some nausea. It comes and goes.” She began, pivoting on the mattress to face him, her free hand reaching up to trace the outline of his injury. “What about you? This looks…ugly…” Her brow downturned, taking in his appearance.

“Jeeze, that’s harsh.” He smiled, leaning into her, his large frame bent to nuzzle his head deep into her shoulder, planting a kiss on her neck. “It’s…painful.” His words slurred slightly as she ran her fingers through his fiery locks. Wrapping his arm around her back he pulled her close, soaking in the warmth of her body against his, steady breathing rocking him gently as she supported his weight.

“You know what I meant!” Ingrid exclaimed, kissing the part of his hair, her lips lingering for a moment before pulling away. Sylvain’s thoughts drifted toward Miklan and their relationship as children of a noble house who put the value of a life on crests. His older brother despised him for bearing such power while he was left with nothing, even going as far as to throw him in a well one winter without food, water, or means of escape. It was three entire days until Glenn found him, starving and on the verge of frostbite. Even then he understood his rage, understood that he had taken everything from him just by existing.

“Ingrid…we can’t shun this kid if it isn’t born with a crest…” He said, swallowing hard as a lump protested from the base of his throat. His lover leaned back, holding him by the shoulders, anger crinkling her delicate countenance.

“I ought to slap you.” She steamed. “Why would you think so lowly of me? I don’t care what kind of power comes from this, it’s our _child,_ Sylvain!”

His chocolate eye softened, a warmth growing in his chest as he processed her words, overwhelmed with joy at her passion. He crawled toward her, his bulk pushing her down, his mouth locking hers in a deep kiss. It occurred to him that he had never been more in love with her than he was at this moment. His hand reached into her shirt, long fingers exploring the contours of his lover’s bare skin beneath his touch.

_That’s all I needed to hear._

*****

Felix sighed, the stump of his hand holding a cool washrag to his forehead. He was no stranger to headaches, but the aftermath of the prior night had left him with a severe migraine, the kind he hadn’t experienced since Glenn’s passing.

“In other words, we could deploy a full supply of troops, or we could send a small scouting party first to see what exactly it is we’re dealing with.” Dimitri’s booming voice cut through his head in harsh waves making it difficult to concentrate on the substance of the conversation.

The swordsman stared at the map sprawled before them, focusing on the illustration of a forest in the edge of the Fraldarius territory. “She has reinforcements here.” He said hoarsely, putting a finger on the sketched trees. “Snipers, trained wolves, who knows what else. We need to see to what extent her defenses have bolstered before making a move.”

The King’s blue eye closed for a moment, apparently pondering options. “If that is the case then it has to be us. We know the area from childhood, we have fought Those Who Slither before. If they are truly involved, it is the only logical choice.”

 _‘If you come back here, I’ll kill you myself.’_ He recalled. _I’m sorry, mother. I just…can’t leave it like this._

Between the thought of going home and the discomfort of his hangover, Felix suddenly felt very warm. He rolled up the sleeves of the black turtleneck he wore, the fabric bunching at his elbows. He reached the stump of his hand up to rub his eyes. “Don’t underestimate her, boar. She was totally unhinged. She…” pausing, he stared at the remnants of his hands for a moment. He was going to tell him that his mother wasn’t the same as he remembered, but the sentiment seemed foolish. How much of what he remembered was tinged with childhood whimsy to begin with? Or with his own ignorance?

_Besides, I’m not the same person either._

He scoffed, turning his right arm over, inspecting the cascade of blue veins that worked to feed a portion of himself that no longer existed. Byleth’s face flashed in his mind—her high cheekbones, emerald eyes—he wanted nothing more than to be beside her, soaking in her comfort.

“I haven’t…asked about your hand yet.” Dimitri observed as he sat across the table from him. “I did not want to be invasive or upset you…but…” the words trailed off as he gaped. It was the same loaded stare he gave him when his father died, all the baggage of their friendship floating just below the surface.

“Then why are you asking now?” He snipped, fighting the urge to leave. His foot started tapping nervously against the floor of the dining hall sending small, echoing thuds up into the space.

“I just wanted to say how very sorry I am that it happened. It was an imperial faction, correct? I was under the impression that we had cleared the area around the Monastery of any such threat. I cannot help but feel somewhat responsible for your injury.” He shook his head, a mop of blonde hair swaying with his movement.

 _Always making it about himself._ The swordsman clenched his teeth to keep from berating the King. For as long as he knew him, Dimitri’s self-loathing was a yawning maw, it sucked every radial problem into its darkness and claimed liability. The image was enough to infuriate him, but he reined in his anger for _her_ sake.

“That’s like me blaming myself for your eye.” He said, spice in his words. “Which you never explained, might I add.” The detail was inconsequential, but Felix desperately wanted to shift the focus of the conversation to something other than his maiming.

“Oh, now that you mention it, I suppose that was quite rude of me. I apologize.” His large hand fumbled with his eyepatch, pulling the barrier up to reveal his eye, the orb a ghostly white, a long red scar extending through the top and bottom lids where his flesh was cut.

Felix took in the crude detail on the face of his childhood friend, a pang of guilt washing over him for his own crassness. “Was it…a sword?” He asked lowly, tilting his head slightly to get a better look. A swath of royal blue fringe fell into his line of vision, obscuring his view. The stump of his hand moved to brush his bangs to the side, the long strands protesting his wishes. It occurred to him that he and Dimitri now had extremely similar hair styles. The notion was enough to make him wonder if Bernadetta had some subconscious inspiration as she cut away at his mane.

“No.” The King sighed; his brow downturned with sad recollection as he repositioned the patch. “It was a dagger. I made a habit of killing bandits during my five-years in the Kingdom slums. One of them was particularly feisty, going on about a dear friend I had slain prior. I gave him the chance to kill me; I even put down my lance. Part of me…welcomed death then, longed for it, even. But the man could not bring himself to do it. Instead, he took my eye. It was…hardly a fair trade.”

_He was suicidal?_

A long silence passed, the two men opting to fill the void with thoughts rather than discourse. Felix recalled the turbulent months Dimitri spent in the chapel at the monastery, how he stared at the rubble in the front of the space for hours, his tall form hunched under the weight of his own depression. He begged Byleth to bring him to his senses, afraid that his madness would infect the others, hinder their success in battle and perhaps even cost them the war. It had never occurred to him at the time that he was processing a kind of sibling death, just like he had. It wasn’t the same as Glenn, of course. In some ways it was worse—Edelgard’s poisonous deceit, her outright rejection of not just him but all his family stood for.

_Perhaps I was…too hard on him._

“What about you?” The King asked, finally breaking the still. “Your hand…I mean. How—”

“A beast gnawed it off.” He interrupted, opting to get straight to the heart of his friend’s question. “One of the Adrestian loyalists used a crest stone, transforming in the middle of battle while I was distracted. When he charged I lost my footing and…well…” The swordsman shrugged with his right arm to accentuate his injury, his vermillion stare turning to the side as he continued. “I’m…adjusting.”

“I cannot imagine how difficult that must be. I’m glad you have the Prof—” Dimitri stopped for a moment, his brow furrowing as he worked through his thoughts. He caressed his chin lightly, continuing. “Wait…Felix…you said he used a crest stone?”

“He did. Is there some significance to that?”

“In the post-war sweep we had gathered all the remaining crest stones in an effort to seal off that kind of magic. It’s dangerous and, in many ways, blasphemous to the followers of the Goddess. I suppose we could have missed one, but…”

_An Imperial faction scouting Garrag Mach is one thing, but knowing they had contraband weaponry…_

“You think it’s part of a more organized operation?” The trauma of losing a limb had clouded his vision to such an obvious conclusion. Loyalists to the Empire were not rare—many would-be lords who were stripped of nobility fought to protest the unification of Fodlan under Dimitri’s banner. To their dismay, however, they were usually disbanded or killed by the knights before they had a chance to join forces and become a larger threat.

“Someone has…well…”

 _“Spit it out, boar.”_ Felix said vehemently, growing impatient with the King’s circuitous tendencies.

“Edelgard’s grave was robbed last moon. We’ve been searching for the culprit, but no one has found anything just yet. She was buried with whatever she had on her the day of our siege, if one of those things happened to be a crest stone the pattern that’s forming becomes even more troubling.”

The swordsman pictured Edelgard, months decayed in her coffin, the grey flesh riggored as she lay in the dirt. A chill climbed his back and settled in the nape of his hair, the follicles standing at attention, waiting for impending doom.

“Who…would do that? Why?” He questioned lowly, shaking his head in attempts to erase the image from his mind.

“Hopefully, we will find answers on this scouting mission. We should depart as soon as possible.” The blonde stood, stretching the kinks from his towering frame with a twist of his back. A satisfying _crack_ echoed through the hall as he contorted, a sigh of relief escaping him.

 _Answers…_ Felix thought wearily. The more details they unearthed the less eager he was to find the source of it all. Something rotten was festering beneath the Holy Kingdom and he found himself reluctantly at the center, a relentless strain pushing him deeper and deeper into the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for patiently waiting on this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it <3 Please don't forget that you can find supplemental material for this story on my tumblr which is listed below.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, my prickly husbando <3 stay tuned for future chapters every week! You can also geek out with me on Twitter @Ghost_Pocky and Tumblr ghost-pocky.tumblr.com . I now have a Ko-fi if you would like to leave a tip and support my work!
> 
> https://ko-fi.com/ghostpocky


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